Murder Drones Harem X Male Reader Novels & Stories

During the school holidays, I took my daughter to a park. I had barely entered the park entrance with my daughter when a supercar crossed the solid line and rear-ended us. The man who jumped out came storming toward me, furious. "Do you even know how to drive? Do you know how much this car costs? You can't afford it even if you went bankrupt!" I was about to argue back since he was clearly the one breaking traffic rules. But I froze. That car looked painfully familiar. Wasn't that the supercar my mother gave me the first year I took over the Milton Group? Even the license plate was identical. My wife, Hazel Bishop, had told me the engine was broken and that she'd sent it to the dealership for repairs. I met the man's arrogant stare. "Is this car really yours?" He paused, then grinned smugly. "My wife bought it for me. It's limited-edition. Someone like you wouldn't understand. Go call your family and sell your house. You owe me 200 thousand dollars." Sneering, he added, "Don't try anything clever. My wife's the GM of Milton Group. She has serious connections. She'll be here any minute." I let out a cold laugh. So Hazel canceled on our daughter today, not because of a business meeting, but because she was out spending the holiday with her lover and his kid instead.

"Hank, there's something hard down there pushing into me." On the driving school car, I was teaching my goddaughter how to drive by letting her sit on my lap, my hands over hers on the wheel. But right after we started, the engine stalled, and the whole car jerked hard. Her round hips settled deep into my thighs. To make things even more intense, she was wearing nothing but a skirt that barely covered her.

On Christmas Eve, my friend, Lenny Gibson, sends me a text message. "I've rented a Maybach for our cat so that we can go back to our hometown for the holidays. It'll be seven thousand dollars per person. The car is fitted with air conditioning and security cameras. Don't you think this is a good deal?" I glance at my bank app, which has just deducted my monthly house mortgage from my account. "Nah. Bebe isn't a spoiled princess. I can't afford to rent such an expensive car." The next day, I receive a selfie of Lenny hugging Bebe while seated in the Maybach. "It's such a shame that you aren't here, Noah. The Maybach's owner is a hot chick, not to mention she's kind-hearted enough to give me a ride home as well!" On the evening of Christmas, I hear sounds of rapid knocking coming from the front door as soon as I enter the house. Lenny's anxious parents can be seen standing on the doorstep. "Is Lenny here with you? He hasn't come home at all! He told us yesterday that he wanted to prepare a birthday gift for you, so he had us give him 20 thousand dollars!" Before I can recover from my shock, the police come knocking on my door as well. It turns out that I'm the last person Lenny has contacted…

I was the top engineer at the National Deep-Sea Institute—and the only person in the world with real deep-sea rescue experience. When my younger brother's submarine went down and he called for help from 35,000 feet below, I hung up on him. Then, calm and unhurried, I went straight to the police station and turned myself in for leaking classified research data. A few minutes later, my father called, furious. "Your brother's life is hanging by a thread—where the hell are you?! I demand you to get to the site and save him right now, or you won't see a single penny of the family fortune!" I pulled the blanket over myself and said into the phone, perfectly composed, "Busy. Don't bother me—I'm trying to sleep."

All along, I've been following a social media account that's dedicated to a couple sharing about their romance. It doesn't have a lot of followers, but the posts are all very heartwarming. The owner of the account records all the little details about his relationship with his girlfriend. They get into arguments over a plate of pasta before breaking into laughter and calling each other an overgrown child. They climb up the hill to hold each other under the sky full of stars, wishing they could make time pause at that very moment. Even though the owner of the account never reveals his face, I am always moved by the words he writes. The day before my wedding, the owner uploads a new post. "This marks the end of our ten-year relationship. From now on, she'll be his wife, and I'll only be his friend. There won't be any more updates to this account. I wish nothing but the best for my best friend and the woman he loves the most." The picture uploaded with this caption is one of my fiancee and me, taken from behind.

"Hubby, kiss me. I miss you so much. When are you coming home?" Out of nowhere, I received a text. The sender was the cold, untouchable CEO who was currently scolding us in a meeting, Veronica Starling. What shocked me even more was the timestamp on the message. It was sent five years in the future.

On the day my older brother, Morgan Slater, is supposed to register his marriage with Savannah Reed, he doesn't show up at the city hall at all. Instead, he calls me, who's there to hype up the atmosphere as the best man. "Savannah is a fake heiress. She's even poorer than me now. Why would I marry her?" After ending the call, I see two comments floating in front of me all of a sudden. [Morgan really is stupid! The paternity test has it all wrong! Savannah is the real deal!] [He has already reached the marriage stage! I can't believe he actually lets the real heiress slip through his fingers just like that!] I instantly turn around to see Savannah standing in a corner on her own. Despite having gotten kicked out of the Reed family, the cheap dress does little to conceal her charm. After giving it some thought, I approach her, knowing full well that I resemble Morgan a lot when it comes to my looks. "Sorry, but Morgan won't be coming today," I say bluntly. Savannah seems to have expected that outcome. All she does is hum in response. "My family has wronged you this time. If you don't mind, is it okay if I marry you instead?" Savannah narrows her eyes at me. Her gaze flits over my face, which is similar to Morgan's. Morgan spends the day looking for another rich woman to marry. As for me, I've already registered my marriage with Savannah and become the official son-in-law of the Reeds.

I got a security job in an upscale neighborhood.  One day, I got a call from a resident.  “I think there’s been a break-in.”  I rushed to the scene. Instead of an intruder, I was greeted by a beautiful woman in barely anything.  She held me and pleaded, “I’m scared. Can you stay with me?”

When news of my arranged fiancee's death arrived, I didn't cry or make a scene. Instead, I quickly reclaimed her shares and had the death certificate issued. I did it because I've been reborn. In my past life, Dad was worried that women would eye my fortune as the heir to the wealthiest family. So, he arranged for me to marry one of three women he personally picked. I chose the most outstanding one, Monica Harris, and married her. However, just three days after our wedding, she died suddenly. Heartbroken, I was persuaded by the remaining two women to give up on marriage and remain single for life. At 80 years old, when I returned to our special place in Sunmere Valley to reminisce, I saw Monica. She should have been dead for 60 years! She stood beside Liam Rogers, my driver who'd gone missing decades ago, surrounded by their children and grandchildren, living a picture-perfect life. I realized I'd been deceived my entire life. The shock sent my blood pressure soaring, and I died of a stroke on the spot. When I opened my eyes again, I was transported back to the day I died. This time, I'm going to find out exactly how someone who's supposedly dead keeps on living.

My sister, Judy Easton, skipped school and started dating way too early, but our parents sent me, the straight-A kid, to a juvenile behavioral correction center, saying it was to teach her a lesson. "Judy, take a good look at William. Act up again, and you're going there, too." My family showed up to visit every so often. The first year, an instructor blew out my eardrum. I was covered in blood, gripping the bars, begging for help. Dad pointed at me while talking to Judy. "Look at him. Still can't follow simple instructions. If you don't listen to us, you'll end up just like him." The second year, the instructor broke both my legs. My parents stood over my bed and said, "Look at you, lying there like a useless wimp. We came all this way to see you, and this is the welcome we get? How ungrateful." The third year, the instructor pumped me full of hormones. I swelled up like a whale. The instructor smirked. "That's probably shot now. Let's see how you go after girls now." Judy stood outside the cage holding her acceptance letter to a top college. The whole family looked pleased. "William, Judy got into a top college. You did your part. I'm taking you home." I blinked, my vision hazy, trying to make sense of it. "Who's William? They all call me Runt."