Writing Contests Adults Novels & Stories

After I secured early admission to one of the country's most prestigious universities, my old high school invited me back to sit for the State Scholars Exam and compete for the top statewide score. But just ten minutes into the math paper, the proctor out of nowhere accused me of cheating. "Everyone else starts with the multiple-choice section. You went straight for the proofs. Were you planning to copy someone else's answers later?" Before I could explain a single word, he dragged me into the boys' restroom. Not only was I humiliated and forced to strip, I also had to let him inspect me over and over again to confirm that I had no cheating devices on my body. After I returned to the exam room, I decided it was better not to cause more trouble, so I started from the multiple-choice section like everyone else. But less than five minutes after I sat down, he yanked me up again. "This is even more fake. You didn't even take time to read or think through the questions before writing down the options. If that isn't cheating, what is?" "I suspect you knew the answers in advance. I'm reporting this to the exam board right now and having your exam qualification revoked!"

My mom often makes an example out of someone when it comes to parenting. Unfortunately, I'm that someone, while my little brother, Raymond Nelson, benefits from it. Ever since I was four years old, my mom had been using this method. If Raymond breaks a bowl, I'm the one kneeling on the floor to pick up the pieces. If Raymond destroys something belonging to someone else, I'm the one writing the reflection report on his behalf. Mom tells me, "You're the older sister here. Since you can't keep your brother in line, you're the one at fault." But Raymond can never get rid of his bad habit of stealing and lying. When Franklin Harris, the owner of a grocery store, comes knocking on our door, Raymond points at me once again. "She was the one who stole your money!" In order to help Raymond get rid of this problematic habit of his, Mom decides to hand me over to the owner. "Sorry, Franklin. It's my fault for not raising my child well. I'll give my daughter to you. You can do whatever you want to her, be it scolding her or beating her up." Little does she know that I will never go home after Mr. Harris takes me away.

I watched Ryan die. So how is Ben wearing his face? Six years ago, I watched my best friend--and secret crush--splatter all over the pavement. He died. I saw him. Yet, in the back of my mind, I've never stopped looking for him. Seeing him in crowds, in the classroom, in my dreams--and my nightmares. It's cost me everything--my identity, my sanity, and maybe my life. So when I walk into class to see a man who looks exactly like Ryan standing before me, I freak out again. My therapist tells me to stay away from Ben. He's no good for me. I'll end up back in a padded room. But I have to know the truth. Is Ben really Ryan? That's not possible. But Ben has scars--real ones and metaphorical ones. If Ben is Ryan, why doesn't he just tell me? Is he trying to drive me crazy? Or worse--is he trying to kill me? The Boy Who Died is the first romantic suspense novel from bestselling romantacy author Bella Moondragon writing as B. Moon. If you love romantic suspense, are a fan of Colleen Hoover, Gillian Flynn, Christopher Greyson, or Paula Hawkins, you won't want to miss this page-turner!

Zara Torres has three rules at Harlow University: no athletic dorm drama, no boring elective classes, and absolutely, under no circumstances, no hockey players. She's broken all three before October. Now she's stuck writing a semester-long profile on Declan Mercer — starting center, criminally good at skating backward, and the most inconveniently interesting person she's met since arriving at Harlow. He's easygoing where she's structured, instinctive where she's methodical, and somehow always exactly where she isn't expecting him to be. Which, as it turns out, is a problem. Zara knows how to land on her feet. She's been doing it since the fall that broke her wrist and her confidence in one clean moment two years ago. She doesn't need a hockey player dissecting her skating footage at midnight or texting her things that are too honest for seven AM. She definitely doesn't need him to be right. But just as something real starts forming between them — something unscripted, something she didn't prepare for — a single email pulls the assignment and threatens to take everything with it. Some edges are sharper than they look. And some falls are worth the landing.

“I paid you! Why do you keep stalking me, then?” She burst out, while glancing at the door as if she was expecting someone to come in and save her. Not that she needed any saving though. I placed both hands on the table, and leaned down towards her. “We fucked.” My lips curled. Her face colored crimson. “It was a nightstand. Adults have one nightstands all the time. Moreover, I paid you-” “I’m not other people, Inez Raymond,” I said, cutting off her words. “Let’s make a deal.” Interest sparked within her eyes, yet she eyed me cautiously. “What deal?” “That you'll agree to be my wife for three months. If you don't fall in love with me during that period, I'll let you be.” She hesitated. “No sex?” I smirked. “I can't promise that. So, what do you say?” She took a deep breath. “Okay.” *** In her drunken and broken hearted haze, Inez Raymond has a one nightstand with a stranger. She pays him off the next morning, and part ways with him. But then, he starts stalking her. When he forces her into a deal with him, she agrees. What she doesn't know is that the stranger was connected with her in ways she could never imagine. Nor was she aware that she was the only heiress of the most powerful family in Europe, second only to the Celvins. While she's determined not to fall in love with him within three months, he's determined to make her fall in love with him, to find out who made her lose her memory years ago, while helping her get revenge on her ex-husband. Who will emerge champion, in their little game of chess?

I came to Hawaii chasing sun, surf, and freedom. Instead, I woke up drugged, locked in a cage, and halfway across the world. They said I was payment for a debt I never owed. They called me a gift for Valiente Cárdenas, Mexico’s most ruthless cartel king. He never asked for me. He didn’t want me. But the moment I fought back, I caught his dangerous attention… and sealed my fate. I should be plotting escape every second his gaze burns into me. Yet every time he calls me “Little Red,” my body betrays me. The most terrifying truth? Part of me is already forgetting why I ever wanted to run. “Why do you always call me that?” I whispered. He grinned, fingers twisting in my soft curls. “Because you turn bright red every time you hear the word ‘fuck.’” ☾⋆⁺₊✧✧✧✧✧₊⁺⋆☽ ⚠️ TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️ This is a dark romance with extreme, explicit, and disturbing content. It explores intense power imbalances, obsession, and taboo fantasies. It is not a representation of healthy relationships or real-life consent. The story contains or leads into: * Abduction/kidnapping. * Prolonged captivity and imprisonment. * Psychological manipulation and gaslighting. * Extreme dominance and submission. * Bondage and restraint (ropes, chains, collars, leashes) * Impact play (spanking, flogging, whipping) * Forced voyeurism via mirrors. * Orgasm control/denial/edging. * Rough and graphic sexual content (including oral, anal, and more) * Trauma, fear, helplessness. * Obsessive/possessive behavior. * Revenge-driven hatred. * Family betrayal, and mild paranormal elements (ghostly whispers and apparitions). This is fiction for adults who enjoy dark, taboo fantasies. Real-life BDSM requires safe, sane, consensual practices with safewords and aftercare—none of which are consistently present here. If any of these themes are triggering, please skip this book. Your mental health comes first. xoxo, SarahBlythe 🖤

“Spread that tight little pussy for me. It’s mine tonight,” Callum growled in my ear as he slammed into me. “Yes. Claim me. Use me. Don’t stop.” A strangled moan ripped out of me. He drove so hard I could barely breathe. My nails ripped at his shoulders, desperate to hold on, when another hand yanked my hair back. My mouth fell open, and a second cock rammed into my throat. I gagged as spit streamed down my chin. A third voice cracked across me with a sharp smack to my ass, the sting making me cry out. “Good slut. Take it all. You’re nothing but our toy tonight.” Tears blurred my vision and my throat burned raw. My pussy clenched tight around Callum with every brutal drive. I gasped out the only words I had left. “Yes… Daddies. I’ll take everything." •••••••••••••••••• CLAIM ME, DADDIES isn’t here to tease. It drags you to your knees, rips you open, and leaves you begging for more. Inside, you’ll find hotel-room threesomes that leave no hole untouched, office domination that strips away every ounce of control, step-daddy cravings that cross every line, brutal gangbangs that push you past your limits, lesbian hookups that turn sweet into savage, gay encounters that shatter taboos, and roleplay so filthy it will stain your imagination. Every story is built to ruin you in the best way. This collection is for adults only, 18 and over. It contains explicit sex,raw language, taboo roleplay, and extreme scenarios. All stories are pure fiction and meant for erotic entertainment. If you’re under 18, stop reading now.

The day I announced I was quitting writing, the entire internet celebrated. Everyone except my girlfriend's rumored boyfriend, the famous mystery author, Bryan Vega. In a short video, he looked genuinely regretful. "This is all a misunderstanding. I’ve always admired Kobi’s work, and I hope he’ll come back for the sake of his readers." I turned off my phone and ignored him completely. In my previous life, the web novel I wrote was identical to the mystery novel he published. People online called me a plagiarist and wished death on my whole family. I tried to defend myself, posting my drafts, outlines, and timestamps. Yet, it didn't matter. The last edit timestamp on his document was ten minutes earlier than mine. Just those ten minutes destroyed me. The messages never stopped. Strangers flooded my inbox with insults. Some even showed up at my house and threw paint on the walls. Years of nonstop harassment dragged me into depression. My parents tried to clear my name, but obsessed fans hunted them down and murdered them using methods copied straight from his novel. In the end, on the very day his book won a major award, I sealed my windows and burned charcoal, ending my life. And then, I opened my eyes again. I had returned to the day my new book was supposed to be released.

The night before her wedding, Mira Castellan discovered the truth hiding behind the man she loved. There was never one fiancé. There were two. Damon and Killian Wrexley, identical twins, had shared her bed, her trust, and her heart in turns, swapping places so seamlessly she never noticed the difference. Her father died protecting their family's darkest secret, and marrying her was never love. It was a cage built to keep her quiet, and keep her close. Betrayed at the altar and left with nothing but the wreckage of a lie she never saw coming, Mira vanished that same night. The Wrexleys buried an empty casket and called it grief. Three years later, she's back. Not as Mira. As Wren Calloway, untouchable, ruthless, and carrying secrets of her own that neither brother is ready for. She's no longer the woman who knelt on the floor begging for the truth. She built an empire in the dark, and now she's brought it home. Damon doesn't recognize the woman dismantling his company piece by piece. Killian can't stop staring at someone who looks exactly like the ghost that's haunted him for three years. And somewhere between revenge and the truth neither twin is prepared to face, Mira will discover that the secret her father died for, and the twins she's sworn to destroy, are tangled together in ways that could undo everything she's planned. The dead bride is back. And this time, she's the one writing the ending

My fiancé was sleeping with my maid of honor. I caught them the night before our wedding. I didn't make a sound. I closed the door, walked back to my bridal suite, and sat at the vanity until my hands stopped shaking. Then I grabbed my keys. At two in the morning I drove forty blocks across Manhattan and knocked on Atlas Marchetti's door. Two years ago I'd told my family I wouldn't marry him. He hadn't said a word about it since. He opened the door in pajama pants. "Marry me tomorrow," I said. He didn't say yes. He poured himself a drink first, listened to everything, and then handed me a piece of paper with terms I should have read more carefully. I signed at dawn. Six hours later I walked down the aisle Carter and I had planned. The Plaza ballroom. The dress I'd chosen in spring. Three hundred guests who came to watch me marry the wrong man. I married someone else instead. Carter watched it happen. He didn't understand yet what he'd lost, and he wouldn't understand for months. Not until he found out who owned the company he ran, and how long Atlas had been bleeding it. I went to Atlas for revenge. He'd been writing this for two years.