Storygraph App Novels & Stories

Tiana anticipated the Ball which happened once every year since the full moon was a rare occurrence. This year, Lewis her boyfriend who was the Alpha was to announce his mate publicly. “ I, Alpha Lewis accept and proclaim Melissa my mate and my Luna,” Tiana had never been more awestruck before. She convinced herself that she must have misheard but when the pitiful whispers erupted and Melissa mounted the platform, she knew that she had heard right. She had been rejected by her own mate who had confessed a million times his love for her. Unable to bear the news and the shame, she runs out of the Ball in tears. Why did something this horrible happen to her? She had loved him deeply and this was what she got in return...

On Mother’s Day, I was driving an intoxicated wealthy woman home when she suddenly said, “You know, I stole my husband from another woman.” Then she handed me a photo. The moment I saw it, my entire body went numb. The man smiling with his arm around her looked exactly like my husband — who had supposedly died eight years ago. After my husband, Cedric Foster, died in an accident, he left me drowning in debt and caring for his comatose mother. To pay everything off, I worked a day job and drove for a rideshare service at night. When creditors came knocking and I had no money left, I sold my blood more times than I could count. “Handsome, isn’t he?” said the woman with a smug smile. “He was married back then, but for me, he walked away from his wife and abandoned his family.” As we entered an exclusive luxury neighborhood, the woman rushed toward two figures waiting ahead. The moment I recognized them, every drop of blood in my body seemed to freeze. I could barely breathe.

After my grandpa receives a critical notice regarding his illness, he takes my boyfriend, Layne Harper, by the hand and pleads with him. "Layne, please marry Aleah while I'm still alive this month. I want to see her live happily ever after." Everyone sheds tears in the hospital room, thinking that Layne will heed Grandpa's words right away by getting down on one knee and proposing to me. After all, I have been waiting for him for the past ten years. With tears brimming in my eyes, I wait for Layne's response eagerly. But he covers the speaker of his phone out of worry that he might awaken his childhood friend, Ruby Martin, whom he has spent the last five hours coaxing to sleep. Finally, Layne replies gently, "Don't worry, Grandpa. I will give Aleah the happiness she deserves. Even if we don't get married in the end, I'll stick with my promise." My relatives stop cheering Layne on immediately. Then, they turn to look at me sympathetically. But I just smile and go with the flow. "I'll still be happy even if I don't marry Layne, Grandpa." After all, in two hours, I will accept another man's marriage proposal.

"Are you sure you can get out of this trap, Arka? The trap you created for yourself long ago." The sentence haunted Arka's mind every time he looked at the woman who was now sitting gracefully on his lap. Amidst the glimmer of crystal lamps and the sheen of a gold dress, his ex-wife, Kania, looked like a queen who had just reclaimed her throne. Arka knew they were no longer bound by a sacred vow. Their divorce was final, signed on stamped paper years ago. Yet, in this private room, with the aroma of whiskey and Kania's challenging gaze, Arka once again became the helpless, foolish man. Tonight was supposed to be the celebration of his new engagement. He was supposed to be celebrating a new chapter. But Kania's presence in the private lounge, in a high-slit dress that showed off her long legs, had ruined everything. "You didn't have to come, Kania," Arka hissed, his voice choked. Kania smiled cynically, caressing Arka's jaw with her cold fingers. "You're right, darling. I didn't have to come. But I had to make sure of one thing: that your heart... still belongs to me, just like before." It turned out that getting out of the marriage was much easier than getting out of his ex-wife's love. Will Arka continue his engagement? Or will he return to his ex-wife?

After another one of Winifred Clayton's dramatic suicide threats, Edgar Snider secretly starts a relationship with her behind my back under one condition—I can never find out about it. He says, "I can be with you, but Wanda is everything to me. Whatever happens between us, she can never know." Winifred pretends to agree. Then, she sends me a video of her and Edgar living together, my son included. "No matter what happens, Edgar will never leave me. So stop deluding yourself—you were never a match for me." What she doesn't know is that I never plan to compete. In just one month, I'll be on a flight to Avernia, gone from Edgar's life for good.

Gracie Miller's father is a big time fraudster— scamming rich people for a living. At least until he crosses the wrong people. The infamous Black Silver Cartel with control over the European black markets. A mafia cartel. To prevent her father from being killed, Gracie is taken as hostage by the leader of this cartel, Raymond Silver. But then when sparks begin to fly, can Gracie overlook the fact that— she's falling for her kidnapper?

As I secured the safety rope, I discovered that the metal clip had been replaced with a flimsy plastic ring. My girlfriend, already on the soft ladder, dismissed my concern casually. "Ryan has got a ton of luggage. One clip isn't enough to keep it secure, so I gave him yours. Just wait for the next trip." In desperation, I pointed to the floodwaters surging past my chest. "But I can't swim!" "Cut the drama, okay?" she huffed. "You're a swimming champ. What's the big deal about treading water for a bit? Ryan is related to my boss, and if anything happens to him, my promotion is down the drain. Can't you be reasonable?" "Is his luggage more important than my life?" I shot back, lunging for the ladder. But she kicked me away. "I've checked. The water won't rise too fast. At worst, it'll reach your neck. You'll survive." Refusing to argue further, I watched the floodwaters rage higher and quickly pressed a special emergency beacon on my wrist.

Clara stood in the middle of the glass room with her transparent clothes, holding back her embarrassment while trying to cover her body with both hands. There were cheers from outside the glass room and naughty looks from the hungry men. "1 million," "5 million," "7 million," Everyone placed a bet on Clara at a fairly low price, tears kept going to roll down Clara's rosy cheeks. Her body was almost shaky and she couldn't meet everyone's eyes, she was like a kitten amidst a hungry lion. "50 million," A man's voice that surprised her made their eyes meet. A most dangerous mafia chief raises his betting cards and shocks everyone. Steven looked at Clara with a grin, as if he was ready to eat Clara alive. His eyes were sharp like a wolf's, and it was him.

For the sake of that fake heiress, my biological parents and brother threw me into a horror game to "teach me some manners." The second the game started, the fake heiress, Nicole, went out of her way to provoke the ghosts nonstop. Once she'd pissed them off, she shoved me in front of her to take the punishment. As I lay there, tortured within an inch of my life, she planted her foot on my head and smirked. "Mom and Dad already made it clear—I'm the only one they truly love. They only brought you back to keep me entertained! Letting you deal with those ghosts for me is more than generous. If you dare complain, once my brother and the others get back, they'll skin you alive." In my past life, I treated them like family and gave in every single time. In the end, I was nothing but a stepping stone for them to beat the game—torn apart and devoured by over a dozen ghosts. But now, I've been reborn. "Welcome to Horror Instance: Happy Home." The moment I heard that mechanical announcement, I slapped the arrogant Nicole so hard she flew across the room. Because in this instance, the three bosses that terrorized every player… were all my family. The red-dressed female ghost who killed without hesitation was my adoptive mother. The monster with scissors for hands who ripped out hearts with a single swipe was my adoptive father. And the ruthless warden who devoured people whole, leaving no bones behind, was my adoptive brother. With them watching my back, why the hell would I keep putting up with this? A mocking smile curled across my lips as I said, "You're on my turf; none of you are getting out alive."

In the tenth year of my marriage to a genius pianist, I came down with a strange illness. A month ago, my husband missed my birthday party to care for his ailing sister-in-law. Night after night, I had waited for him to return home. But that night I forgot to wait at all and went to bed early. Half a month ago, he attended an important performance with his sister-in-law. I had always been petty and prone to jealousy, yet this time I didn't get angry. I simply went home in silence. Three days ago, I fell seriously ill with a burning fever. My husband rushed back from out of town in a panic—but only to tend to his sister-in-law, whose hand had been scalded. When we ran into each other at the hospital, I was strangely calm. I, who used to be fiercely jealous, felt nothing at all. I forgot the promise we had made to grow old together. I even forgot how he once fretted over me for days when I'd scraped a bit of skin. It wasn't until he said he wanted to bring his sister-in-law home and take care of her for the rest of his life that I—my memories riddled with holes—summoned the system at last. "I want to go home."