Xu Shinian

On my deathbed, gasping for air, my wife Olivia and our son stood over me, reeking of cold fury and gasoline. "Our son was conceived with Alex' s sperm," Olivia whispered, a venomous hiss. My son poured gasoline over me as she smiled, "You spent your entire life raising a child for the man I loved!" The first flame brought searing agony; my world exploded into fire. I screamed, the sound swallowed by the inferno. Then I opened my eyes. The smell of gasoline was gone, replaced by roses. I was young, strong, in a tuxedo. This was my wedding night, thirty years earlier. The door burst open; Olivia, pale and panicked, clutched her phone. "Alex sent me a message," she stammered. "He' s at the cliff. He' s going to jump." Her father, Mr. Miller, sternly forbade her from leaving. "If you don' t complete this wedding today, the Miller family will disown you!" Olivia looked at me, her eyes filled with venomous hatred. She slapped me, a sharp sting. In my first life, I had begged her to stay, dedicating thirty years to her and her family, building their empire, raising her son-Alex' s son-only to be burned alive for my devotion. The betrayal was a fresh wound, a guiding light. This time, I would not be a fool. I looked at Olivia, her face twisted with fear and hatred, and made a decision.

Azura Briggs was just a broke college student working freezing valet shifts to pay her adoptive mother's crushing medical debt. Her desperate life shattered the night a bulletproof Maybach violently cornered her in an alley, and a ruthless billionaire kidnapped her by mistake. After a harrowing escape, Azura was forced to take a humiliating "plus-one" gig at a high-end gala just to survive. But her date turned out to be the billionaire's arrogant nephew, who promptly abandoned her to the wolves. Cornered by a sleazy executive and his psychotic wife, Azura was publicly slapped, her dress torn, and left bleeding on the floor while hundreds of elites watched in disgust. Just as she prepared to fight to the death, the crowd violently parted. Hunter Mcintosh, the terrifying man who had kidnapped her days ago, dropped to his knees in the broken glass and wrapped his bespoke jacket around her trembling shoulders. Azura was completely paralyzed. Why was the monster who threatened her life now destroying billionaires just to protect her? But the illusion of safety didn't last. Trapped in his Maybach hours later, Hunter threw a draconian employment contract at her feet. "Sign it, and her care is covered. Forever." He knew exactly how to break her. He was offering to pay off her mother's debt, but only if she signed her life away to become his personal assistant. With no other way out, Azura picked up the heavy pen.

I was the Luna of the Moonstone Pack, but to my husband, Alpha Blake, I was nothing more than a placeholder. While he showered his "fragile" childhood friend Ariana with attention, I kept a secret black notebook. It wasn't a diary. It was a countdown. Missed our anniversary dinner for her? Minus 10 points. Saved her from a falling sculpture while leaving me to be crushed by steel? Minus 20 points. I lay in the hospital with broken ribs, watching him leave to comfort Ariana because she was "traumatized" by my accident. But the final straw came the night I was hit by a truck in a storm he abandoned me in. Desperate to save our unborn baby, the doctors called Blake. They needed his Alpha energy to anchor the fetus. "I can't come," Blake said coldly over the speakerphone. "Ariana is having palpitations. If the fetus is strong, it will survive. If not, it wasn't meant to be." He hung up. I felt the life inside me wink out. With trembling hands, I opened my notebook for the last time. Incident: Killed our child for her. Final Score: -100. I signed the divorce papers, left them on the ashes of my life, and vanished. When Blake finally returned to the empty house, realizing he had lost his True Mate, he fell to his knees and howled. But he didn't know the truth yet. The wife he called weak had just awakened as the legendary White Wolf, and I was never coming back.

The rain hammered against the school bus windows, mimicking the frantic beat of my heart. My estranged wife, Susan, was screaming, trying to drag our brilliant daughter, Emily, off the bus and into the deluge, all for Mark Johnson, a man in his forties who had failed the college entrance exam for twenty years straight. This was his "lucky year," Susan shrieked. A cold dread washed over me; this had happened before. In a life I no longer lived, my hesitation had allowed Susan to pull Emily off the bus, costing Emily her future. Mark, predictably, failed again and then jumped from a bridge. A year later, Susan had poisoned me at Emily' s graduation party, cursing, "You ruined him! You stole his destiny!" I saw the memory, not as a dream, but as a prophecy. There would be no hesitation this time. I grabbed Susan' s arm, my grip like iron, pulling her away from Emily. "You are not ruining our daughter' s life," I bit out. Enraged, Susan slapped Emily across the face, silencing the bus. Just as parental anger was about to explode, the bus driver' s radio crackled: "Route 7 bridge compromised… route to exam center blocked. Indefinitely." Panic erupted, but Susan, oblivious, declared to Mark, "It' s destiny! The universe is making way for you!" The bus became a pressure cooker. Insults turned to shoves. Mark and Susan were caught in a pathetic brawl in the pouring rain. After checking on Emily, I calmly called the Mayor' s office. "This is Professor David Miller," I stated, "Your office has confirmed emergency transport. Helicopters. To airlift the students from your location to the exam center." Hope surged through the bus. "Of course, that' s just for the students on the school' s official roster," I added, low enough for just a few to hear. "Any private applicant, like him, would have to arrange payment for a private charter. Astronomically expensive." The helicopters arrived. Susan, attempting to push Mark to the front, was informed of the $200,000 emergency fee for private applicants. Her jaw dropped. Mark, realizing his entire savings were about that much, asked for his card. Susan stammered, "I used it... I bought you this lucky jade pendant! It cost $300,000!" Just then, a jeweler observed, "That looks like a fake... worth maybe $200." "You idiot!" Mark screamed, grabbing Susan. "You spent my life savings on a piece of glass?" A police officer moved in. Susan, hysterical, begged me for a loan. I offered a loan agreement: $200,000 at 20% daily compounded interest, her house as collateral, due in 30 days. With the last helicopter preparing to lift off, she signed. Mark scrambled on board. Minutes later, a new announcement: "Floodwaters at Route 7 bridge have receded faster than expected. Road reopened. Ground transport can now proceed." Susan, standing alone in the rain, crumpled. She had signed away her future for a now-unnecessary twenty-minute helicopter ride. This was only the beginning.

My engagement to Ethan Hayes was suffocating, bound by a grim family rule: no breaking up, only widowed. My brother' s dying wish had sealed my fate with a man who no longer loved me. He loved Chloe Davis. The definitive moment arrived when my brother's watch, my most prized possession, was shattered by Chloe Davis. Worse, Ethan, my fiancé, sided with her, dismissing my grief and the watch's immense sentimental value. Instead of comfort, I received an onslaught. His mother lectured me, and Ethan himself dismissed the broken watch as "silly" and "worn out," offering an "upgrade" like my brother's last gift was a trivial inconvenience. Then, Chloe returned with Ethan, feigning an apology, only to deliberately destroy the watch further, crushing the delicate mechanism. With each calculated move, they chipped away at my identity. His friends joined in, accusing me of cruelty, while Ethan, oblivious or uncaring, simply saw me as "dramatic" and "making a mess," even as I lay bleeding on the floor of my own apartment. He was more concerned about being late for a dinner reservation with Chloe than about my pain. Why was I continually subjected to this emotional torture? Why did he let her weaponize my dead brother's memory? The answer finally became painfully clear: I was a problem to be managed, not a partner. So, I picked myself up, cleaned the blood, and calmly put an escape plan into motion. His compliance was no longer about weakness-it was my camouflage.

The heavy oak door of San Francisco City Hall felt cold under my fingers. I was waiting for Ethan. We were supposed to get our marriage license today. My phone buzzed. A message from Ethan: "Running late. Emergency at the hospital." Typical. Dr. Ethan Miller, the respected neurosurgeon, always had an emergency. But then, a new post from Chloe Davis, his research assistant, popped up. A photo: her, in our master suite, Ethan's arm around her. Another: a sonogram, tiny and gray, with a heart emoji. The caption read: "Future Dr. Miller coming soon! #blessed #surprise." My breath caught. Our master suite. The one I decorated. He didn't just abandon me at City Hall. He moved her into our home. My phone vibrated again. A long message from Ethan: "Ava, I can explain. It was a mistake... She's young, her research career is just starting... You've always wanted kids, right? She can go abroad... You can raise it. It'll be our baby." Rage, cold and sharp, flooded me. He wanted me to raise his mistress's child. I, Ava Chen, Investment Director at Chen Corp, from a family that built a tech and real estate empire in this city, was no fool. I dialed a number I knew by heart. Liam Walker answered on the second ring, airport noise in the background. "Ava? Everything okay?" "Marriage license," I said, my voice steady. "City Hall. Now. You in?" He'd been in love with me for eight years. "Liam," I said, "Are you in?" Another pause, shorter this time. "Give me an hour. Don't move." He hung up. My story was just beginning.

Lollo got set up to an arranged marriage upon reaching the age of twenty. Aside from this discovery, what shocked her most was that her future groom was no other than Harrison, the billionaire whose photo she secretly took for a job assignment. "You have the liberty to marry any woman you fancy. Why do you have to choose me?" Lollo snapped. "That is the price you have to pay!" Harrison retorted. Gnashing her teeth in anger, she accepted the proposal and started living with him. She tried her best to escape from his control, but she failed every time because the sacrifice of staying with him was not bad at all. After all, he had been drowning her with his endless devotion.

On my deathbed, gasping for air, my wife Olivia and our son stood over me, reeking of cold fury and gasoline. "Our son was conceived with Alex' s sperm," Olivia whispered, a venomous hiss. My son poured gasoline over me as she smiled, "You spent your entire life raising a child for the man I loved!" The first flame brought searing agony; my world exploded into fire. I screamed, the sound swallowed by the inferno. Then I opened my eyes. The smell of gasoline was gone, replaced by roses. I was young, strong, in a tuxedo. This was my wedding night, thirty years earlier. The door burst open; Olivia, pale and panicked, clutched her phone. "Alex sent me a message," she stammered. "He' s at the cliff. He' s going to jump." Her father, Mr. Miller, sternly forbade her from leaving. "If you don' t complete this wedding today, the Miller family will disown you!" Olivia looked at me, her eyes filled with venomous hatred. She slapped me, a sharp sting. In my first life, I had begged her to stay, dedicating thirty years to her and her family, building their empire, raising her son-Alex' s son-only to be burned alive for my devotion. The betrayal was a fresh wound, a guiding light. This time, I would not be a fool. I looked at Olivia, her face twisted with fear and hatred, and made a decision.

Annette was nothing but a mobile blood bank to her stepsister and her fiancé. Bound to a heavy iron chair in a freezing basement, she watched her own blood drain into a plastic bag. Her stepsister, Gayla, smiled flawlessly and whispered the ultimate betrayal. "Your mother didn't die of a heart attack. My father poisoned her for her patent." Her fiancé, Bryton, stepped back in pure disgust, complaining that the smell of her dying blood was unbearable. They watched her struggle against the metal chains, her wrists tearing open as the coldness of extreme blood loss drained her core. They had stolen her mother's wealth, her home, and now her life, leaving her to flatline in complete darkness. As her vision faded into gray, extreme fury flooded her veins. Why did her mother have to choke on her own foam while these parasites lived in luxury? She swore to herself with her last heartbeat that if she ever had another chance, she would tear them all apart. A sharp alarm clock rang out, and Annette's eyes snapped open to the smell of peeling paint. She was back in her cramped trailer at seventeen, exactly three days before her nightmare originally began. She smashed the mirror, grabbed her hidden cash, and headed straight to Manhattan to secure her mother's legacy before they even knew she existed. This time, the timid country girl they expected was dead. The legendary hacker had returned, and the game was about to start.

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.

During a college retreat, we hosted a storytelling competition. They just kept egging me on, completely oblivious to the terrifying disaster it would invite. I said, "The story I'm about to tell is a curse." "Everyone who has ever heard this story has died." "Are you sure you want to hear it?"

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.

My name is Sarah, and I remember the cold. Not the chill of winter, but the stainless-steel table against my back. My sons, Michael and Gabriel, were gone, their screams replaced by silence. My husband David, blinded by ambition, led us to that abandoned clinic. His sister, Veronica, craved an heir for her powerful husband, Senator Harrison. She believed my "Legacy Fertility" and my children's "vital essence" could help her. A quack "expert" performed monstrous acts on my seven-year-old twins. Then it was my turn; they brutally harvested my ovarian tissue. I was left to bleed out on a filthy floor, my insides torn. I died there, a vow of revenge frozen on my lips. Later, I saw Veronica on the news, pregnant and glowing with what she stole. But then, warmth. Sunlight. My eyes snapped open to my own familiar bedroom. Michael was on my chest, Gabriel curled beside me, both alive, young, and whole. The calendar read October 14th—the very day it all began. The memory slammed into me: David's averted eyes, the isolated building, Veronica's cold voice, Michael's terror, Gabriel's whimper. This wasn't a dream; this was a second chance. Veronica, triumphant in my first life, had risen on my family's ashes, her belly swelling with a lie while mine was emptied by her greed. No. Not again. This time, I wouldn't just survive. I would take everything she had, everything she wanted. Her husband. Her position. Her future. My revenge would be absolute, and my children would live. The game had begun.

Veronika McAllister have lived a sad life and a life full of secrets. After the death of her mother during a robbery gone bad, her father blames her for her mother death and her family hates her for reasons she doesn't know. When accepted into Caston college also known as bloodyville because of the series of murders committed by the red ghoul which was later killed in 1990. Now a series of murders is done in the exact manner as the red ghoul the day Veronika stepped into Caston. Are this murders connected to Veronika or has the red ghoul awaken to finish where it left off.

The smoke burned my eyes, thick and acrid, as my three-year-old son, Caleb, coughed weakly beside me. My wife, Jennifer, stood at the wine cellar door, her gaze fixed on her brother-in-law, Ryan. "It's for Molly's sake," she said, her voice chillingly devoid of warmth. "The guru said Caleb's energy caused her asthma attack. We have to cleanse it." She slammed the heavy oak door shut, the bolt thudding into place, trapping us. My son, who had a severe peanut allergy and sensitive lungs, was left to suffocate in the toxic smoke. Days bled into a hazy nightmare until Jennifer' s brother, Wesley, appeared, revealing Jennifer never loved me; I was just a rebound. He then callously threw more sage onto the embers, sealing our tomb deeper. I clawed our way out, just barely, carrying Caleb' s limp, blue body to a hospital, clinging to a desperate thread of hope. But Jennifer arrived, not for us, but demanding Caleb's O-negative blood for Molly' s minor fender bender injury, ignoring doctors' pleas. "He's my son. Do it," she commanded, her eyes cold. Then, with a casual glance at Caleb, a nurse, obviously bribed, fed him a peanut granola bar. The flatline screamed, and Caleb arched, his tiny chest still. Jennifer, with Ryan' s arm around her, turned her back on our dying son to comfort Molly' s fake tears. My world shattered. Ryan' s venomous whisper echoed: "You and your son, you were always in the way." How could a mother abandon her child to such a horrifying death? How could she choose a niece over her own son, then murder him without a second thought? Something inside me didn't just break; it turned to dust, then reformed into steel. Andrew Wright had to die, so the man who would take everything from them could be born.

I spent three years locked away by my husband, Ethan, in a soundproof panic room. My legs, shattered in the "accident" he orchestrated, were useless. He stole my songs, my career, my life, and gave them to Chloe, a talentless fraud he built into a star. Then, they wheeled me out-a prisoner displayed for the "happy family": Ethan, Chloe, and my son, Leo. Leo, who looked at me like a monster, holding Chloe's hand and calling her "mom." Ethan ordered me to confess to plagiarism, to blame my own "jealousy" for his intricate web of lies that destroyed me. But the ultimate cruelty came later. Chloe, supposedly dying from a heart condition, needed a transplant. "You're a match," Ethan stated, his voice devoid of emotion. "You will donate your heart to Chloe." It wasn't a request; it was my execution. My heart for hers, the last piece of me carved out and given to the woman who stole my life. As the scalpel touched my skin, Chloe whispered, "This is for stealing my life, you bitch." I closed my eyes, uttering one word to the mysterious "Pact" I made years ago. Then, I left my body to die. Yet, I woke up. Not gone, but back. And the Pact whispered a new bargain: return to stop Ethan, who, shattered by my death, was becoming a true monster. The deal was clear: save him and save my sister. I stepped back into hell, but this time, the chains were broken, and I was ready to fight.