Post Apocalyptic Setting 소설 & 이야기

I was setting up a weekend shopping list on the tablet my husband had just replaced for our home system. A notification popped up. He had forgotten to log out of a shared, encrypted family calendar— one I didn’t recognize. There was only one unfamiliar profile photo. I tapped it. A list titled “My Little Princess – Personal Notes” filled the screen. My Little Princess doesn’t drink alcohol—only mineral water or herbal tea. No late nights. She needs absolute quiet to sleep. She gets anxious easily—keep fresh white lilies in the house and her favorite vanilla chocolates on hand. I scrolled slowly, my expression unreadable. The final entry was bolded. Highlighted. “Next Wednesday: take my Little Princess to choose her wedding crown.” I closed the screen. Then I picked up my phone and called my husband. “Love,” I said gently. “Does your Little Princess prefer a classic European bridal crown… or something more traditional? I thought I could help you choose.”

Sarah has been dating her boyfriend for a year now and is waiting for him to propose to her. They were invited to a Christmas Eve party from his job. Sarah believes this will be the perfect setting for John to propose. However, during the party, she discovered John having sex with another woman. She confronted them both, but John became aggressive. Out of nowhere, a handsome stranger came to her rescue. The rest of the night, Sarah was drinking to erase the pain while the handsome stranger kept an eye on her to make sure she was safe. Sarah was so drunk that she wound up kissing the handsome stranger under the mistletoe, not knowing he was claiming her as his mate. The handsome stranger was determined not to leave Sarah and her drunken state at the party alone. He didn't know where she lived, so he took her to his penthousein the city. Sarah was the type of person who didn't believe in the supernatural. However, she finds out that this handsome stranger is not only her mate but also a werewolf. Will Sarah accept him as her mate, or will she run away scared? Only time will tell.

I died as their pawn, I’ll live as their execution Betrayed by her beloved husband. Framed by her sister. Executed like a criminal. When Serina Valcrest opens her eyes again, she finds herself reborn two years before her death, with every memory of treachery fresh in her mind. This time, she will not be the docile, naive wife everyone expects. This time, she will sharpen her smile into a blade. Behind the glittering curtains of noble society, Serina begins her game of vengeance planting rumors, unraveling secrets, and setting traps with perfect precision. Every move pulls her closer to exposing the rot at the heart of her family. But in the shadows waits Cassian Veyra, a man more dangerous than any poison. Cold, cunning, and feared across the empire, Cassian is interested in Serina’s quiet war. His protection comes at a price… one she isn’t sure she can pay. As old enemies tighten their grip and hidden daggers strike from the dark, Serina learns the truth: They don’t just want to ruin her anymore they want her dead. And this time, she won’t go to the gallows quietly.

On the day the true heiress and I swapped places, my childhood sweetheart, bound to me by a promise made in youth, gripped my hand before our families and declared, "I chose you, not your title." Anna Pedersen, tears brimming in her eyes, enveloped me in a trembling embrace. "Joanne, we'll always be family. I'd never take what's rightfully yours." Everyone assumed I'd turned misfortune into fortune. Though I lost my status as the Pedersen heiress, I gained a steadfast lover and a selfless sister. But three years after fate corrected itself, photos of Calvin Thomas escorting Anna to a prenatal checkup flooded the internet. When I confronted him, he exhaled a plume of smoke and said coolly, "Anna is my true betrothed. This is just setting things right. Why are you so worked up?" He seized my wrist and dragged our engraved engagement ring across the back of my hand, leaving a bloody gash. "This scar will remind you of the twenty years of life you stole. Your life and I belong to their rightful owner."

I come across a popular post on the forums. "Help! Someone has stolen my two million dollars of gold from my safe! The thief didn't even leave behind any marks of wrenching the safe door open!" In the photo, a hand with a wedding ring can be seen pointing at an empty safe. The safe's model and patterns match the safe that I've seen in my best friend, Joan Hart's, house before. The comment section is already filled with comments. "Girlie, I'm sorry, but I have to say this. Your husband's most likely the culprit." "Agreed. There's no way ordinary thieves can swipe your gold away without leaving anything behind." "You should check your husband's recent financial situation first." The original poster responds to the comments that doubt her husband firmly, "There's no way it's my husband! We're in a tightly-knit relationship!" Someone is quick to ask, "What about your friends and relatives? Who else has visited your house before?" This time, the original poster's response appears even faster. "Last week, my best friend spent a night at my house…" Just as I'm about to share the thread with Joan and tell her that her safe might be compromised because of these safety issues, I receive a phone call from her. "Andrea, I got bad news for you! Someone stole my safe at home!"

In the three years I spent unconscious in a hospital bed, Julius Carter took care of me day and night without complaint. The very first thing he did after I woke up was get down on one knee beside my hospital bed and propose. That night, while scrolling through social media, I came across a female influencer who looked strikingly similar to me. [Another date with my boyfriend today!] [He took me to an upscale restaurant for dinner and bought me the diamond ring I wanted. He's the sweetest!] The top comment read: [You're showing off so much. I bet you're just a sugar baby!] She fired back immediately with a reply. [Being a sugar baby takes skill, too. Looking like a pig won't get you that kind of treatment.] [My boyfriend is the heir to the Carter family. Another nonsense from you, and I'll have my lawyer sue you!] My breathing hitched. Since when did Julius Carter have a girlfriend? Rage overcame me, and I tapped on her profile, ready to send her a private message. That was when I noticed a post pinned to the top of her page. The photo showed a pair of long, elegant hands placing food onto someone's plate across the table, and on the back of that hand were two small moles. They were the exact same two moles Julius had.

My father suffered a heart attack and collapsed. Emergency treatment required the installation of a cardiac stent. I asked my husband to approve an expense of 10 thousand dollars for the surgery. Cameron Lister, the CEO, refused coldly, "The company and family accounts have been frozen recently because of a major project. Your father has medical insurance, so just use a cost-effective domestic stent for now." He was the sole administrator of all the bank cards in my family. His reply made me sorrowfully realize something. Even though I was a genius architectural designer with an annual income of 600 thousand dollars, I was still not worthy of choosing a better life-saving device for my own father. It was a Twitter post forwarded by a colleague, freshly and gleefully posted by the company intern Wendy. [Cameron is so nice. I just said I liked painting, and he gave me a million dollars to organize an art exhibition. I love him so much!] I looked at my father lying on an extra bed in the hospital corridor, groaning in pain, and then looked at the photo of them sweetly embracing each other. I finally understood that Cameron had perhaps never truly loved me. He had only treated me as a stepping stone for his soaring career, and as a tool for him to exploit without limits. 'If this is what you want, Cameron, then don't blame me for being ruthless,' I said inwardly.

My parents have invited all of their relatives and friends to our villa for a nice gathering to celebrate their golden anniversary. Isabel Atkinson, my wife who works as a model, suddenly calls me on the phone and claims that she needs to attend an urgent meeting hosted by her client. Before it's my turn to give a speech on the stage, my assistant suddenly hands my phone over to me. "Mr. Marsh, you might want to take a look at this…" The screen shows a social media post made by Miles Horton, an intern designer at our company. "At this moment, she belongs to me and me only." In the photo, Isabel can be seen sitting in a dimly-lit room. A few plain-looking dishes decorate the table. Her hair is slightly messy, but she continues to smile at the elder next to her. A cold, mocking smile appears on my face. It turns out that her so-called emergency meeting is a family gathering with Miles. I leave a comment in the comments section. "The food looks pretty tasty. I'd like to visit you next time." Chaos erupts on the social media feed instantly. Isabel calls me immediately. "Why are you being such a phony? You'd better delete the comment right now!" I just chuckle coldly as I end the call. Then, I send her a copy of the divorce papers I've drafted. Since Miles' matters are clearly more important to her, then she can forget about coming home forever.

Because I made Sam Whitaker's "perfect girl" take a cold shower, he threw me inside a freezer and locked the door. "Nancy caught a cold, so now I'm going to make you suffer with her!" I desperately clawed at the freezer door, screaming for help, but all I could see was Nancy Bullocks' lips moving. "Sam cares too much about me, so there's nothing I can do to plead on your behalf. I'm afraid you'll just have to endure this one." She set the temperature to the lowest possible setting, and the last sliver of my vision faded as the dust cover slipped into place. When Sam returned from his honeymoon, he finally showed some mercy and said he would let me out. "I'll let it slide this time, but let's see if you dare target Nancy again." 'I won't dare to target her again because I have already become a massive block of ice. One touch and I will shatter into a thousand pieces,' I said to myself.

I've been married to Ryland Webster for eight years. In that time, we got divorced nine times. I met every woman he dated after our wedding. Whenever he grew tired of someone and wanted out, I became his favorite excuse. "If you marry him, you'll end up like me," I told them. "Cleaning up his messes, signing divorce papers over and over, and walking away with nothing." On New Year's Eve, I sat beside another woman he'd abandoned, handing her tissues as she cried. Across the city, Ryland was setting off a fireworks display for his newest girlfriend. As I watched her sob through an entire box of tissues, I saw a younger version of myself. For the first time, I asked Ryland for a divorce. He looked genuinely confused. "We'll be remarried in three days," he said. "Do we really need to go through this again?" I smiled and shook my head. No. Not this time. Ryland, I'm done waiting for you.