Locked In Meme Novels & Stories

On Christmas Eve, I giddily wait for my husband, Hunter Gibson, to come home while nursing my eight-month pregnancy. Unexpectedly, Hunter bursts through the front door with his childhood friend, Winter Jones, in his arms. I attempt to help him out, only to get shoved to the floor instead. My belly bumps into a corner of the coffee table, causing pain to shoot up my nerves. Cold sweat soon beads on my forehead, and yet Hunter doesn't even spare me another glance. "Get out of my way! Someone drugged Winnie's drink at the bar! If I don't purge the poison out of her, she'll die!" As I shield my belly, I dig out my phone. "I'll call an ambulance for her—" But Hunter snatches my phone away before hurling it at the floor, breaking it into splinters. Then, he grabs me by the neck angrily. "Are you trying to ruin Winnie's reputation? If word gets out, how is she going to live with her head hung high?" In order to prevent me from "ruining his plan", Hunter decides to trap me on the balcony while disregarding my pleas and the fact that I'm only wearing thin pajamas. "You should take some time to cool off! Once you've finally learned your lesson, you're only permitted entry!" I can only slam my palms onto the glass door desperately with tears running down my face. There, I'm forced to watch as Hunter and Winter go at it like desperate rabbits on the carpet in the living room, with the Christmas songs serving as their ambiance. A heavy snowfall has occurred that night. At the crack of dawn the next morning, Hunter finally remembers that I exist. He calls my number, yet my phone was turned off. Furious, Hunter yells, "Where the hell did you go? Winnie's stomach is in discomfort! Get your ass back here right now and cook her some soup!" What he doesn't know is that I'm right outside the balcony door. The thing is, dead people are incapable of answering phone calls, not to mention Hunter has already broken my phone, to begin with.

The last thing Miranda thought when she responded to a prison pen pal request was to find true love. Joel, well, he was only hoping to pass time and maybe if he was lucky, he'd find someone to have a little fun with after doing ten years of hard time in the state penitentiary for a crime he committed when he had just barely turned eighteen years old. He had been hardened by the things he'd seen and the experiences of imprisonment and no longer believed in lovey dovey fairy tales or happily ever after. So hardened in fact, that he knew women only led to one thing-trouble. Not even a good girl like Miranda would break him ever again. Not with her long dark hair, those hypnotizing amber-eyes, and definitely not those full lips that would look so good…nope, nope, nope. What neither one expected was to find the perfect balance of emotional and physical attraction. Can Miranda's persistence and commitment soften and heal Joel's untrusting heart or will Joel break Miranda in ways she has never experienced before? This is the first book of three in the Locked-Up Lovers series. Enjoy!

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?”

On the day I'm set to go into labor, I plead to my husband, Timothy Langford, to take me to the hospital when I'm two centimeters dilated. However, a pissed-looking Timothy orders his men to lock me up in a sauna room that's heated to 356 degrees Fahrenheit. This is all because my estimated labor date is one day earlier than my widowed sister-in-law, Natalie Thornton. Since Timothy is bent on making Natalie's baby the oldest grandson of the Langford family, he instructs his men to inject me with 100 labor-suppressant injections. No matter how much I beg Timothy to spare our baby, he remains unmoved. Having received 99 injections, I feel a world of pain crashing down on me, seeing as I'm already suffering from contractions to begin with. But Timothy is the one who injects the final labor-suppressant injection into my huge pregnancy bump. As he gazes at my agonized and writhing form, he says coldly, "It's already difficult for Natalie to survive in this world after losing my older brother. As her brother-in-law, I'm merely fulfilling her wish to become a mother. "Still, you refuse to spare her. It's not enough for you to force her to survive overseas on her own; you even plan on receiving labor-induction injections just to give birth to your baby on an earlier date! "It seems that I've spoiled you far too much for you to have the guts to pull this stunt off! The doctor already told me that once I've given you the labor-suppressant injections and leave you somewhere extremely hot, it can stop you from giving birth. You're only allowed to give birth once Natalie is out of labor." At that moment, I've completely given up on life. The moment Timothy witnesses Natalie's baby being born, his eyes are filled with tears of happiness. He sets off firework after firework to celebrate the grand birth. Later on, as Timothy gazes at Natalie's newborn, he finally remembers me and our unborn baby. When he's about to order his men to take me to the hospital, he receives a phone call from his assistant. "The hospital has called to inform you to take Mrs. Langford's body away."

My father's adopted daughter was only locked in the cramped storage closet for around fifteen minutes, yet he punished me by tying me up and throwing me inside. He even sealed off the ventilation with towels. "As Wendy's older sister, if you can't take care of her, then you should also experience how scared she was," he declared coldly. He knew I was claustrophobic, but my desperate pleas for mercy, my terror, were met with nothing but heartless reprimands. "Let this be a lesson on how to be a good sister." As the last sliver of light disappeared, swallowed by the oppressive darkness, I struggled helplessly. A week passed before my father finally remembered my existence and decided it was time to end my punishment. "Let's hope this week served as a good lesson for you, Jennifer. If this happens again, you will no longer be allowed in this house." He would never know that I had already taken my last breath in that suffocating room. My body had begun to rot in the darkness.

After working for five years, I finally get to purchase my favorite penthouse in Rainville. Tessa Boston, my younger cousin who has just graduated from high school, tells me she wants to stay with me during her summer break. I want to reject her at first, but my mom claims that we're all relatives here, and that I shouldn't act all high and mighty just because I'm richer now. So, everyone drops Tessa off on my doorstep without even consulting me. But after Tessa starts living with me, she frequently sings loudly and makes a lot of noise in the middle of the night. I can't get a good night's sleep because of her. After that, she even invites her old high school classmates over to the penthouse and throws a party there. Tessa tells her classmates that this is the smallest residence she owns. Apparently, this is a gift she has received to celebrate her 18th birthday. Everyone is envious of her and calls her an actual heiress of a wealthy family. But these punks completely mess up my penthouse. My neighbors begin lodging noise complaints against me. Unable to take it anymore, I warn the youngsters to keep their voices down. But Tessa thinks I've humiliated her, so she begins harboring a grudge against me. When I'm watering my flowers on the balcony, she uses that opportunity to lock me outside. It's an insanely hot day. I'm stuck on the balcony from morning till night. By then, I've already died from the heat. When I wake up again, I've returned to the day Tessa tells me she wants to stay with me.

The day I confirmed I was three months pregnant, I went to Oliver's office to drop off some files. I was finally going to tell him the good news. The Pack was in the grip of a record heat wave, and with the temperature climbing toward 122 degrees, I reached over to switch on the AC. His secretary stopped me before I could. "Luna, I'm on my period, and our Pack wolves already carry the Cold Curse. It isn't hot enough to need the AC." But I was afraid the heat would hurt the tiny life growing inside me. I shot her a glance, said nothing, and turned it on anyway. Late that night, Oliver came home from a business dinner and led with an accusation the second he walked in. "Sophia already gets cramps and nausea on her period, and you blasted cold air at her for forty-one minutes and thirty-eight seconds. You put her in the ICU with stomach spasms." "Oliver, air conditioning doesn't hurt anyone, and I've had periods too. Never mind that. There's something important I need to tell you. I'm preg—" Oliver pulled the corner of his mouth into a smile, drew me into his arms, and cut off the words before I could finish. "I lost my head. You're right." He kissed my forehead the way he always did, murmuring softly until I fell asleep. But when I woke, I was inside a transparent glass freezer room. Every face around me belonged to someone important in the Pack. Outside the glass, Oliver stood with a hand on Sophia's soft waist, watching me with a smile. "You like the cold air? Then today you can have all you want." My heart sank. I pulled out my phone and photographed the people around me. Then I made a call. "Dad. None of these people need to live to see tomorrow's sun."

My wife, Rosalie Lockwood, locks me up in a villa located in the suburbs for three days because I've forgotten to feed her first love's dog once. Unfortunately, the villa somehow gets set on fire. I call Rosalie for help and beg her to tell me where she's hidden the key. But she merely replies lightly, "Today is Caleb's birthday. Don't think about ruining this big day for us! Once Caleb's mood lightens up after we're done celebrating his birthday, I'll let you out." I try to save myself, but the water supply in the villa is already cut off. Soon, the signal goes out, too. I can only watch as I get surrounded by the ruthless inferno. Eventually, everything in the villa is reduced to ashes. Even when I'm burned to nothing but bones, help still never comes for me…

On Halloween, I was secretly reunited with my long-lost mafia parents. They offered to take me home, but because I couldn't bear to leave the three brothers in my foster family, I refused to go with my parents. Getting back home, I changed into the white dress and bracelet given to me by my brothers as gifts. However, this triggered the jealousy and crying tantrums of their biological sister, Tiana. To avoid putting my brothers in a difficult position, I agreed to take off the dress and bracelet. Despite that, she wasn't satisfied. To appease their biological sister that they had been separated from for years, my three brothers forcefully locked me inside a transparent decorative coffin, despite knowing that I suffered from severe claustrophobia. Suffocating, I frantically banged on the coffin's glass, begging them for help. Tiana stood on the side, smirking at me maliciously. "Sarah, aren't you a professional actress? Why is your acting so exaggerated and fake? You're just locked inside, not being strangled, so why are you gasping?" My brothers knit their brows in annoyance. "It's just a little prank. How can you not even last ten minutes? Can't you just tolerate it for a bit?" "I checked it myself. The coffin has air vents and we're standing right here watching you the whole time! You won't be in any danger, and it's impossible for you to suffocate!" "If you didn't want to make Tiana happy, you could have just said you aren't willing! There's no need to fake being miserable and pitiful just to get our attention and sympathy!" But I wasn't faking. The phobia triggered a severe stress response and it brought on an asthma attack, cutting off my airway. Through the glass, I looked at them in sheer agony and despair. I was really going to die...

I'd been married to Joshua Merck for five years, but we still didn't have kids. To stay healthy, I took those pricey custom vitamins he ordered from overseas—never missed a dose. Then my cousin came back from studying abroad, took one look at the bottle, and was like, "That brand doesn't even make custom vitamins." I sent them to the hospital for testing. The lab report hit me like a truck—birth control pills. Powerful ones. Suddenly, all those mornings with Joshua hovering over me, acting so concerned while I took my "vitamins," made sense. The whole thing had been a lie. Five years of lies. Just as I was gearing up to confront him, my phone buzzed—a group chat notification. Shirley Hoare had tagged Joshua. [Honey, I had a prenatal checkup today, and the doctor said I'm carrying twins! Your family's about to get two grandchildren at once—excited?] My heart turned to ash. Everything clicked. Fine. We were done. I pulled out my phone and replied to my childhood sweetheart's message from three days ago: [After watching the northern lights, I still wanted to see penguins in Antarctica.]