Flying Free
11 Published Stories
Flying Free's Books and Stories
Rebirth: A Wife's Bitter Reckoning
Modern The piercing wail of an ambulance siren was the first thing I heard.
I was lying on the living room carpet, the scent of dust and cheap air freshener in my nose.
A few feet away, my younger sister, Chloe, clutched an empty bottle of pills, feigning unconsciousness.
It was a pathetic performance, but it had destroyed my life once before.
This was the day I received my acceptance letter and full scholarship to the nation' s most prestigious art school-the day my life was supposed to begin.
Instead, guided by my mother' s frantic sobs and my father' s angry accusations- "Ava, how can you be so selfish? Your sister is trying to kill herself because of you!" -I buckled.
My fiancé, Mark, whispered poison: "What' s a scholarship compared to your sister' s life?"
I believed them.
I gave it all up, watching as my scholarship was transferred to Chloe.
The betrayal festered.
A month later, I discovered Mark hadn' t failed his exams; he and Chloe had plotted to steal my future.
When I confronted them, they locked me in my art studio and set it on fire.
I survived, disfigured and broken, only to be forced into a brutal marriage where I eventually died.
But now, I was back.
Seventeen again.
Whole.
The future they stole, once again within my grasp.
Chloe fluttered her eyelids, a flash of triumph in her eyes as they met mine.
This time, the burning rage had cooled into something harder, sharper.
They thought this was their victory.
They had no idea it was just the beginning of my revenge. The Day the Vampires Awoke
Modern I was twenty years old and dying of ALS, my body wasting away into a pile of twitching muscles and lead-heavy limbs. With only a month left to live, I took my parents' entire fifty-thousand-dollar inheritance to a rain-slicked alley and gambled it all on a single vial of "unregistered" blood.
The liquid tasted like battery acid and stopped my heart cold, but when I woke up, the paralysis was gone. My skin was pale, my eyes had turned into glowing molten silver, and the only thing that could satisfy my agonizing hunger was the sound of silver jewelry shattering between my teeth.
But the cure came with a terrifying new vision: I could see the blue, parasitic shadows living inside everyone around me. My neighbors, my teachers, and even the little girl next door were being hollowed out by monsters with needle-teeth and lashing tentacles that no one else could see. When the school went into lockdown and the halls filled with the scent of rotting fish, I realized an invisible invasion had already claimed the city.
The military didn't come to rescue us; they came to "sanitize" the zone, turning their miniguns on the terrified students to bury the evidence of the outbreak. I was trapped on a roof with a handful of survivors and a mysterious girl named Elise who looked at me like I was a genetic mistake.
"No one is coming to save us," I whispered, watching the helicopters circle like vultures.
I grabbed Elise’s enchanted silver dagger, ignored her warnings, and crunched the blade into a savory paste. As a wave of dark, forbidden power turned my skin into a Vantablack void, I stopped being a dying kid and became the only thing the monsters were afraid of. Too Late For The Mafia Don's Regret
Mafia I kept a ledger to track my marriage to the most feared man in Chicago.
Loyalty started at one hundred. Every time Dante looked through me to stare at his mistress, Isabella, I subtracted one. Every time he left our bed to answer her calls, I subtracted five.
The day the score hit zero, I was lying in a secret clinic, bleeding out.
I had been in a severe accident. I was pregnant, and the hemorrhage was critical.
But the nurse, eyes red with weeping, told me they couldn't give me the blood transfusion I needed.
Dante had ordered the clinic's entire supply of O-negative blood to be reserved for Isabella.
She had a bruised knee and was "in shock." He prioritized her comfort over his unborn child's life.
I lost the baby.
I left the ledger on his desk with a final note: *You bought her comfort with your heir’s blood. Score: 0.* Then, I vanished.
Two years later, Dante found me at a gala in Seattle.
The ruthless Capo dei Capi, a man who never bowed to anyone, fell to his knees in front of hundreds of people. He begged, tears streaming down his face, claiming he had made a mistake, that I was his only true love.
I looked at him, then at Julian, the man standing beside me who treated me like a queen.
I pulled my hand away from Dante’s grip and smiled coldly.
"Apologies don't fix dead things, Mr. Moretti. Go back to your grave." His Confession, My Shattered World
Modern My boyfriend, Finn, and my best friend, Carly, were my entire world. After a childhood drifting through foster homes, they were the family I' d always craved, my anchors in a stormy sea. I thought I was the luckiest girl alive.
Then, on the morning of my 23rd birthday, I stumbled upon a private video on Finn' s laptop. It was titled "My Confession."
He wasn't confessing his love for me. He was crying, his voice cracking as he admitted he was in love with Carly.
He called her a vibrant supernova, an electric current. He described our relationship as a comfort, and me as a fragile burden he couldn't bear to hurt.
My found family had found each other, and I was the inconvenient truth standing in their way. The two people who had pulled me from the shadows were now the ones casting me back into them. They had given me so much; this was the one thing I could give back.
Their freedom.
So while they planned my surprise party, I quietly accepted a multi-year research contract at the ends of the earth. I was going to the Arctic to disappear. No Second Chances For Cheaters
Billionaires Tonight was our tenth wedding anniversary. My husband, tech mogul Damon Ayers, booked the city's most expensive hotel for a lavish party.
He pulled me close for the cameras, whispering how much he loved me. A moment later, I watched him use the private code we developed together to flirt with his mistress, Kandy, right in front of me.
He left our party, lying about a work emergency, to meet her. The anniversary fireworks he set off? They were for her. The next day, she showed up at our house, pregnant. I watched through the window as a slow smile spread across his face. A few hours later, she sent me a photo of him on one knee, proposing to her.
He had always told me he wasn't ready for a child with me. For ten years, I was the perfect, supportive wife. I was also the cybersecurity expert who built the architecture that saved his company. He seemed to have forgotten that part.
As my car headed to the airport for my planned disappearance, we stopped at a red light. Next to us was a Rolls-Royce, decorated for a wedding. Inside were Damon and Kandy, in a tuxedo and a white dress. Our eyes met through the glass. His face went pale with shock.
I simply threw my phone out the window and told the driver to go. Lost Love, Bitter Victory
Romance My wife, Olivia, and I had what I thought was the perfect life, a vibrant canvas of shared dreams and artistic ambition.
But beneath the surface, a shadow lingered: her unexplained infertility, a result of an accident years ago-my fault-that filled me with a guilt I carried like a stone.
I watched her endless cycles of hope, the IVF treatments we endured, believing we were fighting for our miracle baby together.
Then, a single photograph arrived, shattering my world: Olivia, glowing with maternal pride, kneeling before a three-year-old boy who was undeniably hers. On the back, two words scrawled in messy handwriting: Our son.
The fertility struggles, my guilt-it was all a monstrous, suffocating lie, a performance designed to keep me blind.
I couldn' t breathe, trapped in her beautiful deception, so I planned my escape, a desperate attempt to vanish from a life that was never truly mine.
After I "disappeared," a new life began, quiet and anonymous, painted in the solitude of the Oregon coast.
But the past refused to stay buried, returning with the salt on the wind, a ghost with haunted eyes and the cruel truth of consequences.
Now, she stands before me, broken and desperate, having lost everything-her child, her lover-in the wake of my strategic vanishing act.
She believes my "death" was her fault, the ultimate price for her lies, unaware that the real architect of her downfall was closer than she ever imagined.
I am not the man she married. I am a stranger forged in betrayal, ready to confront the wreckage she created. The Price of a Billion-Dollar Love
Billionaires The private jet' s hum was supposed to drown out the silence, but it only amplified the heavy dread in the cabin.
Across the table, my husband, Ethan Vance, watched me with cold, unblinking eyes, his once-loved face a mask of cruelty.
"Sign it, Chloe." His low, calm voice cut through the air.
The document lay between us, a single sheet of paper that would transfer my half of our billion-dollar company to him-and to her, Scarlett Hayes, his long-lost ex, the ghost haunting my marriage.
My hands trembled, but it wasn't just the document.
Through the open jet door, his bodyguards held my sixteen-year-old sister, Lily, her face pale with terror, thousands of feet in the air.
"Scarlett needs this," he' d said when I begged, "You were just holding her place, Chloe. It's time to give it back."
His words were a physical blow, shattering illusions of the life we'd built.
My love, my security, my entire world-all just a temporary placeholder.
Watching Lily' s silent tears stream down her face, I knew he was using my deepest love as a weapon.
My signature was a shaky scrawl, a testament to my broken spirit.
"There. It's done. Now let her go."
A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face.
Then, the guards tightened their grip, and with a brutal shove, pushed my sister out the open door.
Her scream tore away with the wind, leaving only a horror too profound to process.
He had promised to let her go, and he had murdered her instead.
In the ensuing darkness, as my world fractured, a terrible clarity sliced through the pain: I was never the love of his life; I was just the bandage for a wound he never wanted to heal.
But as the jet descended, a defiant spark ignited in the ashes of my heart.
I would survive.
I would escape.
And he would pay. Lost Love, Found Self: A New Beginning
Romance My life was a perfectly tailored garment, every seam in place, my marriage to tech mogul Ethan Vance the central, flawless stitch.
Then, at my triumphant New York Fashion Week debut, I found him with a woman I didn' t know, his arm around her, her hand clutching his.
She was Willow Vance, his long-lost cousin, a fragile waif who, he explained, had nowhere else to go.
She moved into our penthouse, a subtle manipulator who turned every minor mishap into a dramatic performance of victimhood, always with Ethan as her loyal defender.
I watched, helpless, as my husband dismissed my concerns, publicly shamed me, and defended her manipulative acts, making me the villain in my own home.
When a package of provocative lingerie arrived, addressed to me but with a note clearly meant for Ethan, I knew it was Willow' s ultimate power play to shatter our trust.
I confronted her, exposing her performance, and for a moment, Ethan finally saw through her act.
But nothing truly changed.
My family, my life' s work, everything I held dear was weaponized against me, twisted and contorted until I was left with nothing but emptiness.
I finally walked away, choosing freedom over a life built on lies and betrayal.
Little did I know, the fight was far from over. The Day He Lost Everything
Romance I rushed home, excited for our anniversary, my mind full of plans for our perfect life, our growing family.
Then the fall happened.
The hospital confirmed the miscarriage.
But the real blow came when I saw my husband, Ethan, not by my side, but tenderly looking at another woman, his ex, Liv, in the very same hospital.
Worse, the anniversary ring he'd promised me shone brightly on her finger.
He covered his tracks with casual lies about "late client meetings" and a fabricated "startup" with his friends, who all gleefully participated in his deception.
His mother even called Liv his "honorary little sister," while telling me I was "too suspicious."
He came home, oblivious, asking for snacks and telling me to rest because I was pregnant—the baby I'd just lost alone.
How could the man I loved, the father of our lost child, be so utterly blind, so heartless?
The truth settled in, cold and sharp.
All their lies, the endless gaslighting, the twisted loyalty of his family and friends—it was an entire world built on my pain.
I packed my bags.
My new job in Austin was calling.
I left him the divorce papers, the rings, and a voicemail revealing the truth: there was no baby for him to be a father to.
Not anymore.
I was free. The Jilted Heiress's San Francisco Escape
Romance My world was finally clicking back into place.
After three agonizing years, my fiancé, Chris Vance, the ex-CIA operative I adored, was finally back from his top-secret mission.
Our dream wedding at my Wyoming ranch was set, a perfect life ahead.
Until I stumbled upon his old satellite phone.
A hidden audio file revealed a woman's voice, and then *his*, casually discussing a 'New York heiress' and a two-year-old son named Leo.
That three-year 'mission'? A perfectly crafted lie.
He'd been playing happy families, while I counted the days.
The ultimate betrayal? His paramour, Maria, soon arrived with their son, Leo, and shamelessly framed me for poisoning the child with an allergy, casting me as the jealous villain right in front of him.
His eyes, once filled with love, now held doubt.
How could he betray me so utterly, then watch it happen again?
The man I loved was a stranger, and I was left with a shattered dream and a public accusation.
I took off my engagement ring, left it, and fled.
My godfather offered an escape: San Francisco, and a quiet stranger named Noah Chen.
Was it a lifeline or another cage?
Could I ever trust again after such a devastating lie? Avenge My Trapped Fairy Mother
Xuanhuan Here’s the translation of the text into English:
---
Mother is a fairy from the heavens.
For the sake of Father, she stayed in the mortal world, creating a beautiful tale.
But only I know that Mother was stripped of her feathered robe, the source of all her powers, and was forced to remain in the human realm.
At the age of seven, I knocked on Mother’s door in the dead of night.
She was barely clothed, her body limp, lying in the arms of Emperor Father, biting her lip in humiliation.
She held me and said, "Ali, go quickly, and never come back."
Later, she lay in my arms, covered in blood, laughing with wild abandon.
"Ali, Mother can only help you this far."
"The rest of the journey, you must walk on your own."
I held Mother’s lifeless body, gripping the small knife tightly in my hand.
"Mother, don’t worry."
"I will soon send them down to accompany you."
---
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Seven Years A Fool, One Day A Queen
Stella Montgomery Everyone knew Kristine loved Colton. Still, his heart clung to a woman overseas-someone he spent most days with, now pregnant with his baby-and Kristine still asked him to marry her.
On their registration day, however, he never came; his "true love" had flown back.
Seven years of loyalty later, Kristine walked away, blocked him, and left his city.
Colton didn't blink-until he saw her at the courthouse, arm-in-arm with another man, and the proud CEO went pale. He went after her, desperation overtaking him.
"I'm sorry. Please give me another chance."
She snapped, "Could you stop? I'm already married." The Scars She Hid From The World
REGINA MCBRIDE The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab."
My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle.
When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine.
They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber.
I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone.
At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on. Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance
Roderic Penn I stood at my mother’s open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule.
While the priest’s voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?"
When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone—he brought Charla with him. He claimed she’d had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child."
He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me.
"He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect.
Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards. The Humble Ex-wife Is Now A Brilliant Tycoon
Flory Corkery For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted.
Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke.
Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph.
Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!"
With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off."
A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!" The Ghost Wife's Billion Dollar Tech Comeback
Huo Wuer Today is October 14th, my birthday. I returned to New York after months away, dragging my suitcase through the biting wind, but the VIP pickup zone where my husband’s Maybach usually idled was empty.
When I finally let myself into our Upper East Side penthouse, I didn’t find a cake or a "welcome home" banner. Instead, I found my husband, Caden, kneeling on the floor, helping our five-year-old daughter wrap a massive gift for my half-sister, Adalynn.
Caden didn’t even look up when I walked in; he was too busy laughing with the girl who had already stolen my father’s legacy and was now moving in on my family. "Auntie Addie is a million times better than Mommy," my daughter Elara chirped, clutching a plush toy Caden had once forbidden me from buying for her. "Mommy is mean," she whispered loudly, while Caden just smirked, calling me a "drill sergeant" before whisking her off to Adalynn’s party without a second glance.
Later that night, I saw a video Adalynn posted online where my husband and child laughed while mocking my "sensitive" nature, treating me like an inconvenient ghost in my own home. I had spent five years researching nutrition for Elara’s health and managing every detail of Caden’s empire, only to be discarded the moment I wasn't in the room.
How could the man who set his safe combination to my birthday completely forget I even existed? The realization didn't break me; it turned me into ice.
I didn't scream or beg for an explanation. I simply walked into the study, pulled out the divorce papers I’d drafted months ago, and took a black marker to the terms. I crossed out the alimony, the mansion, and even the custody clause—if they wanted a life without me, I would give them exactly what they asked for.
I left my four-carat diamond ring on the console table and walked out into the rain with nothing but a heavily encrypted hard drive. The submissive Mrs. Holloway was gone, and "Ghost," the most lethal architect in the tech world, was finally back online to take back everything they thought I’d forgotten. Marrying Her Was Easy, Losing Her Was Hell
Michael Tretter "Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress.
With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap.
Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell.
On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered.
When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling." Beneath His Ugly Wife's Mask: Her Revenge Was Her Brilliance
Lukas Difabio Elliana, the unfavored "ugly duckling" of her family, was humiliated by her stepsister, Paige, who everyone admired. Paige, engaged to the CEO Cole, was the perfect woman-until Cole married Elliana on the day of the wedding. Shocked, everyone wondered why he chose the "ugly" woman.
As they waited for her to be cast aside, Elliana stunned everyone by revealing her true identity: a miracle healer, financial mogul, appraisal prodigy, and AI genius.
When her mistreatment became known, Cole revealed Elliana's stunning, makeup-free photo, sending shockwaves through the media. "My wife doesn't need anyone's approval." The Convict Heiress: Marrying The Billionaire
Rollins Laman The heavy thud of the release stamp was the only goodbye I got from the warden after five years in federal prison. I stepped out into the blinding sun, expecting the same flash of paparazzi bulbs that had seen me dragged away in handcuffs, but there was only a single black limousine idling on the shoulder of the road.
Inside sat my mother and sister, clutching champagne and looking at my frayed coat with pure disgust. They didn't offer a welcome home; instead, they tossed a thick legal document onto the table and told me I was dead to the city.
"Gavin and I are getting engaged," my sister Mia sneered, flicking a credit card at me like I was a stray dog. "He doesn't need a convict ex-fiancée hanging around."
Even after I saved their lives from an armed kidnapping attempt by ramming the attackers off the road, they rewarded me by leaving me stranded in the dirt. When I finally ran into Gavin, the man who had framed me, he pinned me against a wall and threatened to send me back to a cell if I ever dared to show my face at their wedding.
They had stolen my biotech research, ruined my name, and let me rot for half a decade while they lived off my brilliance. They thought they had broken me, leaving me with nothing but an expired chapstick and a few old photos in a plastic bag.
What they didn't know was that I had spent those five years becoming "Dr. X," a shadow consultant with five hundred million dollars in crypto and a secret that would bring the city to its knees. I wasn't just a victim anymore; I was a weapon, and I was pregnant with the heir they thought they had erased.
I walked into the Melton estate and made an offer to the most powerful man in New York.
"I'll save your grandfather's life," I told Horatio Melton, staring him down.
"But the price is your last name. I'm taking back what's mine, and I'm starting with the man who thinks he's marrying my sister." No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return
Xiao Xiaosu I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie.
"The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single."
The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate.
Gray’s text to her was the final blow:
"Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade."
I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance.
How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury.
I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street."
"I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray."
If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world. 
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