Mahiツ

This story revolves around the group of friends who went to the "Haunted Forest". In that time the story of an American boy was famous that he was engulfed by the enchanted forest. So for surety,they went to see if there's really something of "That kind". For more update stay tuned and read what will happened next🌸

My father raised seven brilliant orphans to be my potential husbands. For years, I only had eyes for one of them, the cold and distant Damien Paul, believing his distance was a wall I just had to break through. That belief shattered last night when I found him in the garden, kissing his foster sister, Eve—the fragile girl my family took in at his request, the one I had treated like my own sister. But the true horror came when I overheard the other six Fellows talking in the library. They weren't competing for me. They were working together, orchestrating "accidents" and mocking my "stupid, blind" devotion to keep me away from Damien. Their loyalty wasn't to me, the heiress who held their futures in her hands. It was to Eve. I wasn't a woman to be won. I was a foolish burden to be managed. The seven men I grew up with, the men who owed my family everything, were a cult, and she was their queen. This morning, I walked into my father's study to make a decision that would burn their world to the ground. He smiled, asking if I'd finally won Damien over. "No, Dad," I said, my voice firm. "I'm marrying Hunter Beach."

After my tenth miscarriage in five years, I believed my body was broken. My husband, Barron, was my perfect, doting savior who had rebuilt my life after destroying my family's company. Then, I overheard him on the phone. He confessed to poisoning my tea every night, methodically murdering our ten children to repay a debt to his mistress. A life for each year she'd spent in prison for him. My entire world wasn't just a lie-it was a gilded cage built by my family's destroyer. He thought he left me to die in a fire. He was wrong. Now, with a new face, I'm back to burn his empire to the ground.

My five-year-old son, Liam, suffered severe brain damage from an allergic reaction. A car accident left me with shattered ribs and a new heart beating in my chest. My husband, Mark, seemed broken by our tragedy. Then, I overheard his phone call. "Olivia, it's done. Liam is no longer a problem. The accident went perfectly. They said her heart was a match for you. It was almost too easy." I was paralyzed. He planned it all. He fed Liam peanuts, knowing his fatal allergy. He orchestrated my crash to get my heart for his mistress, Olivia. We were pawns, obstacles to be removed so his son, Ethan, could inherit everything. Mark walked in, feigning concern. He even asked me to give blood for Olivia, whose body was rejecting my heart. He dragged me out of bed, ignoring my weakness and bleeding hand. He was draining my son too. I fainted from blood loss. Mark then suggested we place Liam in a facility and "adopt" Ethan. But in his monstrous suggestion, I saw my escape. His phone was left behind. His password was Ethan's birthday. I found a video: Olivia giving Ethan peanut crackers and pointing to Liam. It was deliberate. I forwarded the video, emailed my friend, a neurosurgeon in Switzerland, and deleted the history. I bundled Liam and slipped out. I mailed divorce papers and the USB with the video to Mark's office. "I'm leaving, Mark," I told him, then hung up. Mark eventually found Liam's room empty. The nurse, witnessing Olivia's manipulative act, showed Mark security footage of Olivia pinching Ethan and falsely blaming me. Mark erupted. He threw Olivia out, showering them with cash, telling them he never wanted to see them again. I landed in Zurich, found freedom with Liam. The news came: Mark suffered a severe spinal injury in an accident, paralyzed. He left everything to me for Liam. I founded a non-profit for children with brain injuries. Liam thrived, discovering a gift for piano. Then, my transplanted heart began to fail. I was preparing for the end, writing birthday letters for Liam. Ben burst in: "We found one! A perfect match. A directed donation from a patient in the States." It was Mark. He had arranged it, his ultimate atonement. He had his life support removed. I watched his final message, then deleted the file. A new heart. A new life. Our new life.

My sister Ivanna's son was dying. His leukemia had returned, and he needed a bone marrow transplant immediately. My husband, Jaimen, didn't hesitate. His cold eyes landed on our five-year-old daughter, Lily, playing in the corner. "Use Lily's," he said. "Her marrow is a perfect match." When I refused, he and my own sister pinned me to the floor. They ignored my screams as doctors held down my terrified daughter and performed the extraction. They took too much. Lily died the next day of cardiac arrest. Then, they had me beaten and dumped my body in a dark alley, leaving me to die alone. For three years, Jaimen believed I had run away out of spite. He cursed my name, telling everyone I was a venomous woman who had murdered our daughter to get back at him. Now, Timothy's leukemia is back, and Jaimen has launched a massive, city-wide manhunt. He is threatening to torture my mother to force me out of hiding, vowing to break my legs and make me kneel. He has no idea his search will lead him to two graves. And that my ghost is watching his every move, waiting for the moment he finally learns the truth.

My bank account was a graveyard of numbers, each one a testament to my crushing debt. One hundred and fifty-two thousand, four hundred and eighty-one dollars and sixty-two cents, to be exact. It all started when Jennifer Chavez, my ex-colleague, whispered about an impending grid collapse. I believed her. I drained credit cards, took out high-interest loans, and filled my Portland apartment with freeze-dried food and solar generators. Then Jennifer posted from Bali, "#blessed." The grid never went down. My life, however, did. Eviction notices piled up, and my phone wouldn't stop buzzing with collection calls. I hated Jennifer. I hated her effortless success while I stared at a mountain of useless survival gear, suffocating under my own stupidity. Just when I considered oblivion, my obnoxious upstairs neighbor, Sweet_Caroline, shrieked, "I make more money in one of these livestreams than you probably make in a month." Something snapped. What if I gave them an apocalypse?

The splintered wood of the floorboards pressed into my cheek. Another girlfriend gone, another brutal beating from my father. Each woman I brought home to Redwood Creek, to seek the “blessing” at our family’s Pioneer’s Home, emerged twisted with rage, screaming that I was filth. My step-brothers found happy marriages after their girls went inside; I was almost thirty and still a pariah. My father, Jedidiah Thorne, the town’s esteemed mayor, finally showed me why. He strapped me into a chair in a hidden room beneath the Pioneer’s Home, then played a horrifying video. On screen, a figure with my very face, my movements, was brutally torturing animals, then attacking my terrified girlfriends. He confirmed it was me, every single time. My world shattered. I was a monster, a broken thing deserving only death. I sought release in the old quarry, a plunge like my mother’s alleged accident. I survived, but the narrative was set: Ethan Thorne, unstable, suicidal. My father reinforced it, holding me captive, ever-monitored. I faked insanity to finally be institutionalized. Numbed by medication, I accepted my cage, a safely contained monster. Until one grey day in the drab yard, I saw her. Sarah. My first love. The girl I was told I’d killed years ago. She was undeniably alive. And her eyes held a fierce, angry truth that ripped through the fog, promising to expose a horror far greater than I could ever imagine.

"Tell me you are mine" the cold, sharp, merciless blade tried to force me into submission. Into HIS submission. I am not a property that anyone can own. "I-I am yours". Green is supposed to be my favourite colour but as I look into his green merciless eyes I feel nothing but fear. "Good girl. Now, we don't want your dear ones hurt do we?" ******** Life is never easy and it won't ever be. It's harder when you have demons of your past and devils in your present to fight against. No one wants to loose but how long can you keep yourself stable? Only the strong and brave survives in the race.....is she strong and brave? Triggers and smuts are present. Unedited.

Laura was a bold, courageous, gorgeous, intelligent young lady who always stood out for herself. She always fought for her right and never allowed anyone to look down on her , her family nor her friends. She was known as the most brilliant and talented student in her class. This irritated some of her mates and led to the plot of her attack to tame her. " Hold her, let's see how her intelligence works this time...", Ben exclaimed, landing a huge slap on her cheek. Patrick and Fred held her tightly, chuckling and teasing. They molested and bullied her until she passed out. " Wait, Ben, I think we killed her....", Fred cried " Shut up, what do you know? She's just doing that to scare us...." " No, Ben...I think he's right...we killed her..." " Oh, my God...what should we do..." Join me on this journey while we find out what they did to her body and the outcome of their action. ENRAGED SOUL;The revenge of a traumatized girl

It started on the one-year anniversary of my return, a day meant for joy. Instead, my family, devout and God-fearing, brutally murdered me. My brother, my protector, became a "defiler" screaming monster, my father, a man of God, cut off my hand with a rusty saw, and my mother, once overjoyed, called me an "abomination." They threw my bleeding body into a silo, sealing the hatch, and as I died, I only had one question: Why? It was the locket. The small, carved wooden locket my sister, Esther, had given me moments before, a "welcome home" gift that instantly turned my loving family into rabid killers. Somehow, I woke up. It' s the same day, the same anniversary. Esther is coming up the stairs, the locket in her hand, about to give me the gift that will trigger their bloodlust again. This time, I refuse. But Esther is cunning, and soon, I'm dodging my family's crazed attacks, desperately trying to expose their dark beliefs to the authorities. They look at me like I' m simply a troubled girl with an overzealous family. Knowing the law won't stop their fanaticism, I have no choice but to use their own twisted faith against them, no matter the cost, to finally break free.

The last thing I saw was Thunder’s bloodied jaws, closing in on me. My daughter, Sophia, lay broken a few feet away, already gone. Pain, then darkness. Then, with a gasp, I bolted upright, my heart hammering like a drum. I was back on the same rough porch, facing the same smug smirk of Old John. At the end of his chain was Thunder, the Australian Cattle Dog who had butchered my child and me. “Heard you were back in town, Isabella,” Old John rasped, his voice a cruel mockery of a welcome. “Brought you a little housewarming gift,” he added, pulling the chain as Thunder whined, straining to reach me, just like that first time. The memory crashed over me: Thunder’s lunge, the searing agony as his teeth tore my thigh, the hot gush of blood, and then, Sophia’s petrified screams followed by chilling silence as he turned to her. Old John had known my paralyzing fear of dogs, yet he had specifically brought this hulking beast to torment me. He had laughed when I pleaded, ignoring the danger, using the dog as his personal weapon. Every horrifying detail, every agonizing moment of Sophia’s brutal death and my own demise, flooded my mind with chilling clarity. But this time, as Thunder lunged forward once more, I forced my trembling legs to stop. No. Not again. This time, things would be different.