Lan Zhen
14 Published Stories
Lan Zhen's Books and Stories
The Billionaire's Blizzard Bait
Horror I lived a life of enviable luxury in my pristine Colorado mountain cabin, nestled deep in the Rockies.
Then, I died, frozen solid just outside my own front door.
My last sight was Ethan, my boyfriend, feasting on my food inside, watching me claw at the glass until my fingers bled.
His family, the Scotts, laughed as I froze, adjusting curtains to block me out, celebrating my demise.
They left me to perish in the brutal blizzard, utterly and completely abandoned.
That death was absolute, excruciating, and unforgettable.
But then, I jolted awake, submerged in 1200-thread-count sheets, the Rockies bathed in sunlight outside my window.
It was ten days before the storm, before my betrayal.
A wave of nausea hit me, the phantom hunger and cold still clinging to my bones, but then a cold, hard fury replaced it.
This time, my cabin, my wealth, and my meticulous planning wouldn' t be my downfall; they would be my ultimate weapon. Reborn Princess: Burning Her Scornful Crown
Romance I spent three years trying to be the perfect Crown Princess, enduring my husband Bradley's coldness while pouring my family's fortune into his royal projects. I truly believed our marriage was built on duty and that our adopted son, Jimmie, was the bond that held us together.
Everything changed on a stormy night when I caught Bradley in his study, calmly watching my family's trust fund documents-the entire Orozco legacy-burn to ash in the fireplace. He didn't even look guilty as he explained that I was never his partner, only a convenient bank account for the Crown.
When I lunged to save the papers, Bradley shoved me to the floor with bored indifference. Then, the ultimate betrayal walked through the door: Jimmie. My son didn't run to comfort me; he took Bradley's hand and looked at me with pure venom. Bradley sneered, revealing that Jimmie wasn't adopted at all-he was his biological son with my best friend, Icy.
"We just needed you to fund his future," Bradley said.
I was dragged out by guards and thrown into a sedan speeding toward the cliffs. At Dead Man's Curve, the driver jumped out of the moving car, leaving me to plummet into the freezing ocean. As the water filled my lungs and my life faded, I didn't feel fear. I felt a distilled, murderous hate.
I woke up gasping for air in my old bedroom, three years before the crash. It was the day of my fake infertility diagnosis, the beginning of their plan to break me.
"The Fiona who listened to you is dead," I whispered, looking at my reflection.
I didn't cry this time. Instead, I dressed in black and headed into the night to find the only man Bradley feared-the lethal, "boiling-blooded" Regent, Demian Ballard. I was going to save his life, and in return, he was going to help me burn the palace down. Bound To The Ruthless Wall Street Butcher
Modern I was trapped in a velvet booth at Le Bernardin, Arthur Sterling’s hand crawling up my knee as he whispered that my father would be in handcuffs by morning if I didn't spend the night with him.
Desperate to escape, I lunged at the only man more dangerous than Arthur—Gunnar Kirk, the "Butcher of Wall Street"—and kissed him in front of every camera in the room, thinking I was choosing the lesser of two evils.
I was wrong; Gunnar didn't just play along, he took possession, forcing me into a cold-blooded contract to be his fake fiancée to save his corporate image from an SEC investigation. While my greedy stepmother and sister were busy fighting over the diamonds he sent, I was living in terror, trying to hide the one thing that truly mattered: my infant son, hidden away with a nanny in a cramped Queens apartment. When my baby suffered a febrile seizure and I rushed to the ER, I looked up to see Gunnar standing in the doorway, his glacial eyes boring into me as he realized the "ruined" socialite was hiding a child from her past.
I tried to sabotage the wedding, setting up my fame-hungry stepsister as a decoy bride so I could flee to Switzerland with my son, but Gunnar caught me on the fire escape before I could take a single step toward freedom. He threw me over his shoulder like a sack of flour and told me that if I didn't walk down that aisle, he would personally ensure my father rotted in prison.
We stood at the altar and exchanged vows in a ceremony built on blackmail and lies, but as we walked out as husband and wife, Gunnar didn't look at me with affection; he turned to his assistant and ordered a total deep dive into the medical records I had spent a year trying to erase.
"Find out exactly what happened during those nine months in Switzerland, and tell me who that baby really belongs to." His Discarded Wife Was The Real Boss
Mafia I spent fifteen years building my husband's mafia empire, coding the complex algorithms that washed his blood money clean.
But on my thirty-fifth birthday, instead of a gift, I received a photo of his hand resting on another woman's thigh.
When I confronted him, Dustin didn't apologize. He brought his pregnant mistress, Jami, into our penthouse and told me to accept the hush money.
"You have nothing except what I give you," he sneered, treating me like a slow servant rather than the mastermind behind his success.
The argument turned violent. He shoved me hard, sending me crashing into a solid oak nightstand.
As I lay on the floor, bleeding and dizzy from a split forehead, I watched the man I loved step over my body to comfort the woman wearing my mother's stolen heirloom ring.
He didn't check my pulse. He didn't call for help. He looked at me with pure disgust and turned his back.
In that moment, the wife died, and the witness was born.
He thought I was powerless because I had no assets in my name. He thought I would fade away quietly.
He forgot one crucial detail: I wasn't just the furniture in his castle. I was the architect.
Every server, every encrypted drive, every hidden account—I owned the code.
I wiped the blood from my face and walked out the door, but I didn't go to a lawyer.
I went to a hardware store and bought a ten-pound sledgehammer.
I wasn't going to just leave him.
I was going to delete him. His Fatal Love, Her Bitter End
Romance My billionaire husband spent three years and a fortune to find a donor heart to save my life. He was my hero, my entire world after a woman named Karma Smith framed my father and destroyed my family.
Then, I discovered he'd been protecting her all along. She was his mistress, pregnant with his child.
Overnight, I became the villain in his eyes. He ignored my calls for help as her thugs beat me and dragged me behind their car. He forced me to kneel in the snow all night as punishment for the miscarriage she faked and blamed on me.
The final act of his cruelty was a sea burial for the "baby" I had "murdered." On his yacht, he held her in his arms, his eyes burning with a hatred that seared my soul.
When she "accidentally" dropped the urn into the ocean, he turned his rage on me.
"Then you'll jump in and find it!" he roared.
I looked at the monster who wore my husband's face, the man I had loved more than life itself.
And without hesitation, I threw myself into the icy water. His Humiliation, Her Freedom
Young Adult For seven years, I lived in Liam Sterling' s shadow, meticulously crafting his academic success.
Tonight, at our graduation party, he stood on stage, arm around his new girlfriend, Skye Miller, and publicly humiliated me.
He announced they were going to Northwood Community College, then suggested I come along, sneering, "You know you can' t manage without me telling you what to do. It' s for the best."
Murmurs and snickers filled the room.
"His lapdog."
"He owns her."
Humiliation burned my cheeks, but this time, something snapped.
The suffocating feeling that had always compelled my obedience vanished.
All the years of silent suffering exploded into rage.
When Liam, unaccustomed to resistance, tried to order me around again, I looked him straight in the eye.
"No," I said, my voice clear and loud for the first time.
His face reddened, but I wasn' t done.
"I' m not going to community college with you, Liam. I' m not going anywhere with you."
His control shattered, Liam escalated.
He and Skye led a mob to my house, turning my sanctuary into a frat party.
They poured wine on my graduation dress, laughed at my humiliation, and when I saw my grandmother' s locket-a precious heirloom-around Skye' s neck, a piece of my soul was torn.
Liam had stolen it from my room and given it to her.
"It' s just a piece of cheap metal, Ava," he scoffed.
"It was my grandmother' s! It' s all I have left of her!" I cried, but he just said, "Get over it."
Then, Skye whispered to Liam about my college applications, suggesting he
destroy my future.
My heart pounded as he headed for my room, a cruel smile on his face.
No!
My future. My laptop.
He publicly deleted my Ivy League applications, replacing them with Northwood Vocational School, and submitted it.
Then, he smashed my laptop.
They dragged me to the basement, locking me in, knowing my deepest fear.
My world ended there, swallowed by darkness and their laughter.
But somewhere, a father was about to get a call, and Liam Sterling was about to learn a very painful lesson. When Silence Roared: A Mother's Escape
Romance My life was a constant struggle, cleaning up after Ethan, a musician with "the devil's blood" and a cruel wife, all while trying to save for my son Caleb's therapy.
But when Ethan bought his mistress a diamond bracelet with Caleb's therapy savings, then locked my terrified boy in a closet just for her amusement, I knew I was living in hell.
The real nightmare began when he dragged Caleb to the edge of a bottomless quarry, threatening to push him, making me believe he was about to murder our child.
Saved at the last moment by the Sheriff, Nathaniel, a man rumored to be the sworn enemy of Ethan's family, I thought I'd found sanctuary.
But my ex-husband's control, rooted in a terrifying blood pact, threatened to destroy us all, pulling every loved one into his spiral of sadism.
Even Nathaniel, my supposed savior, had his own dark secrets, revealed by a chilling recording on what was meant to be my wedding day.
His calm dismissal of my pain and his true motives shattered my last ounce of hope.
How could the man who rescued my son from the brink of death be using me as a pawn in his own twisted family game, willing to sacrifice my comfort and trust for his ambition?
Why did he send my child away right before our ceremony, claiming it was for "safety"?
I ripped off the wedding dress.
I wasn't just leaving that wedding; I was leaving behind every lie, every manipulation, and redefining what it meant to fight for my son and myself, no matter the cost, no matter the man. When the Script Flipped
Young Adult My senior year was supposed to be the start of everything.
My award-winning screenplay, "Echo Park", had captivated a young producer named David, and my dream film school, USC, was within reach.
But then, everything shattered.
My SAT scores inexplicably plummeted, a disaster that strangely coincided with my best friend, Olivia's, perfect score.
A year later, Olivia's mysteriously acclaimed screenplay, almost identical to mine, landed her the very deal David had offered me.
Every ambition, every relationship, everything I cherished, she systematically stole, leaving me in a devastating spiral of depression that ended in an accidental overdose.
As darkness consumed me, a terrifying truth slammed into my consciousness: Olivia, clutching a shimmering "Script Switcher," used it to rewrite my fate, three times over.
How could my closest friend harbor such monstrous envy, possessing a magical device that allowed her to meticulously dismantle my entire life?
Now, I'm back.
Reborn on the exact day my downfall began, but this time with a chilling certainty and a ruthless plan.
Olivia may still have her notorious Switcher, but I have the memories of a life lost and a cold resolve to make her steal nothing but my most spectacular failures. Beyond Forgiveness: The Vanderbilt Fall
Romance I was eight months pregnant, suffocating inside a gilded cage for ten long years.
My marriage to Ethan Vanderbilt was nothing but a cold, calculated transaction.
His family paid for my little brother Leo's experimental, life-saving medicine, and in return, I endured Ethan's endless parade of mistresses and his cruel, dismissive taunts.
My only flicker of hope, a fragile, dangerous thing in that house, was the life growing inside me.
Then, a blinding flash of red on the road.
A blaring horn too late.
Tiffany Hayes, Ethan' s latest social media darling, caused the crash.
I fumbled for my phone, fingers slick with something warm, gasping his name: "Ethan, accident! The baby..."
His voice was cold, impatient, as Tiffany's giggle echoed in the background: "Don't be such an attention-seeker."
He hung up.
In the sterile hospital room, amidst the quiet hum of machines, the doctor' s words were a death knell: "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Vanderbilt. The baby… he didn't make it. Stillborn."
My world shattered into a million pieces.
Then, my phone rang again, pulling me deeper into the abyss.
It was Dr. Ramirez.
Due to Ethan's malicious disruption of payments, Leo' s condition had deteriorated rapidly.
"He passed away an hour ago, Sarah."
My brother. My son. Both gone.
Numbness, a heavy blanket, descended.
But then, a video message buzzed on my phone: Ethan and Tiffany, hours after the accident, laughing, kissing.
"Sarah? She's probably just milking it for sympathy," Ethan slurred from the screen.
The casual cruelty of it, the utter, monstrous indifference, curdled my grief into bitter resolve.
How could any man be so devoid of a soul?
How could a lifetime of sacrifice end in such devastating, calculated malice?
That night, something inside me broke free.
My baby would be buried in the Vanderbilt plot as was his right.
But Leo?
His ashes would come home with me.
I wasn't just escaping a marriage.
I was reclaiming my very soul, leaving the ashes of a destroyed life behind. The Scapegoat Heiress: Havenwood's Reckoning
Modern I clutched the USB drive, halfway to Havenwood's town hall, rehearsing the speech that would expose GlobalCorp's ruthless fracking operation and save our community.
Suddenly, the ground bucked violently, an unnatural tremor that tore through the town, confirming my worst fears.
Before the dust could even settle, Mrs. Henderson's shriek pierced the din, echoing across the shattered town square:
"It's her! Sarah Miller! She did this!"
My adoptive father, the Mayor, looked at me with dawning horror, not for my safety, but for his failing reputation, while my brother Ethan's expression solidified into something cold and unrecognizable.
Even Mark, my Mark, the boy who'd promised me forever, was already by Veronica Hayes's side, his arm protectively around her, refusing to meet my desperate gaze.
They twisted my desperate attempt to force an investigation into GlobalCorp's inherently flawed safety equipment into an act of "eco-terrorism," blaming me for the town's destruction and even framing me for a beloved librarian's tragic death.
The angry mob surged, so my own family shoved me towards the outskirts, leaving me no choice but to flee Havenwood, branded its monster, its ungrateful scapegoat.
How could they so easily believe I, who had tirelessly tried to protect them, was capable of such malevolent destruction, completely ignoring the crucial proof I held in my hand?
For months, I existed in the shadows, a ghost haunted by the bitter taste of betrayal and the crushing agony of a truth no one would hear, my life utterly destroyed.
But a reclusive, Pulitzer-winning journalist, Alistair Finch, found me and called a fateful town hall meeting, promising to finally reveal Havenwood's full, devastating truth.
Tonight, I, Sarah Miller, the one they cast out and branded a traitor, will finally return, not as a broken fugitive, but ready to expose the real villain and reclaim my story as the defiant heir to the formidable Vance Justice Foundation. Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: My Life Without You
Romance My engagement party, the culmination of five years poured into Ethan Cartwright and our future, was supposed to be my fairy tale.
But hiding on the terrace, his voice, cold and dismissive, echoed through the night: "Sarah? She's perfect.
Adorably naive, utterly devoted.
She won't rock the boat.
Won't challenge me.
And she certainly won't interfere with Isabelle."
The words hit like stones, shattering my world and sending me tumbling into darkness.
I woke up with amnesia, the doctor explaining recent memories were gone – Ethan's name meant nothing.
But this man, a stranger, kept pushing me, forcing me into public appearances purely for his convenience.
At his gala, his actual lover, Isabelle, deliberately pushed me down a grand staircase.
I learned later that fall cost me a baby I never knew I carried – *his* baby.
Yet, he showed zero concern.
Instead, Ethan demanded I issue a public apology for "attacking" Isabelle, threatening to annul our engagement on grounds of mental instability and destroy my family's business if I refused.
A man I couldn't even remember was trying to ruin my life, dismissing my pain and accusing me of deceit.
The amnesia, meant as a curse, became my liberation.
Looking into his empty eyes, I finally spoke, my voice steady: "This is the last thing I will ever do for you.
Consider our ties severed."
I walked away, leaving behind a life I could no longer remember, eager for a new beginning in Chicago with someone whose warmth offered a fragile promise – Noah Evans. The Agent in the Dark
Billionaires My sister, Lily, was dying.
Leukemia, rare and aggressive.
Only an experimental bone marrow transplant could save her, costing seventy-five thousand dollars.
Insurance called it "experimental," so they wouldn't cover it.
I worked double shifts at the grimy diner, counting every dollar of my meager tips.
It was never enough for Lily.
Then Jess, my flashy old high school friend, showed up.
She had an "unconventional" job, she said, with "huge pay."
A vigil for a dying man, Adam Blackwood, a wealthy recluse in rural Louisiana.
They needed a "pure-hearted young woman," a virgin, to perform "comforting rites" for his soul's passage.
And a "discreet examination" afterwards, to confirm my "commitment."
One hundred thousand dollars. More than enough for Lily.
Despite a creeping unease, Lily’s pale face flashed in my mind.
I took the thirty thousand upfront, let Jess drive me to the massive, gothic plantation.
Mr. Blackwood was cold, Mrs. Blackwood tearfully obsessed with my "purity."
They immediately took my phone, locking me alone in a dimly lit room with "Adam."
He lay still, impossibly sedated, his breathing shallow, his pupils constricted pinpoints.
He wasn't dying naturally. He was being drugged.
The chilling truth slammed into me: this wasn't a ritual.
The "pure-hearted" vigil? A calculated farce.
"Adam" wasn't dying of illness; he was being systematically poisoned.
And he wasn't Adam Blackwood at all.
He was Ben Carter, an FBI agent, deep undercover in an antiquities smuggling ring.
I was the perfect scapegoat, framed to take the fall for his impending "death."
Jess, my friend, had sold me out, a willing accomplice in their deadly deception.
Trapped, utterly betrayed, and staring down a dangerous criminal conspiracy, Lily's money no longer mattered.
Now, it was about survival.
I had to save Ben, expose the Blackwoods, and fight my way out of a nightmare. You might like
From Brokenness To Billionaire Bride
William Jafferson 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." When Sisterhood Becomes Betrayal
Zaccaria Linn The dream always started the same way: my sister, Sarah, screaming my name, her face twisted in pure terror, pointing at a world where the dead walked.
This time, the screaming wasn't a dream. It was real, coming from down the hall.
"They're coming! I saw them!" Sarah shrieked, convinced her nightmares were prophecies.
My parents rushed to her, cooing about a bad dream, but Sarah insisted it was real, clearer this time, a prophecy of rotting flesh and dead eyes.
I lay in my bed, heart a slow drum, remembering my first life: the foolish concern, the attempts to reason that always ended with their blind siding of Sarah.
My logic was met with her tears, my calm with her hysterics, and our parents, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, labeled me "insensitive," not understanding how "special" Sarah was.
My efforts to save their retirement, to hide car keys from her "prepper" conventions, led to slaps and silent treatments, to accusations of sabotaging her "survival instincts."
The family crumbled around her delusion, losing their house, savings, everything, and when the apocalypse never came, they blamed me for not believing, for not supporting their perfect, unified front of madness.
They cast me out, and I died alone in a homeless shelter, not from a zombie, but from pneumonia.
Now, I was 22 again, lying in my childhood bed, listening to the prelude of that same disaster, a second chance at a test I' d failed spectacularly.
This time, I knew the answers.
"It' s going to start with the birds!" Sarah yelled, predicting a mass blackbird death event, completely unaware I knew about the city' s planned fumigation.
My parents leaned into her every word, their faces a mix of worry and excitement, while a bitter taste filled my mouth.
I wouldn' t stop her. I wouldn' t save them.
This time, I would watch them burn.
And I would bring the gasoline. Beyond His Betrayal, A Mother Rises
Zitella Shepp I was overjoyed when I found out I was pregnant. I posted a simple, happy announcement on social media—a picture of tiny baby shoes, captioned "Our next chapter begins."
The next day, my husband Kaeden accused me of doing it to deliberately hurt his "fragile" friend, Clemmie, who was infertile. He said I needed to be taught a lesson in cruelty.
He strapped me to a table and, while Clemmie watched, ordered a man to electrocute me.
I begged him to stop, to think of our child, but he refused.
"Increase it," he commanded, even after being warned it could kill the fetus. He left me bleeding out on the cold metal.
But the horror was just beginning. I was rushed to a hospital, not to be saved, but to be harvested. I heard the doctor's triumphant voice: "It's a perfect match."
My husband was having me murdered to give my heart and kidneys to his mistress.
My last sensation was the cold steel of a scalpel on my skin. My last thought was of my baby, who would never draw a breath. The monitor flatlined into a single, unending tone.
Then, my eyes fluttered open. I was alive. Reborn to Reign: A Mother's Fury
ffssg 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. The Billionaire's Blizzard Bait
Lan Zhen I lived a life of enviable luxury in my pristine Colorado mountain cabin, nestled deep in the Rockies.
Then, I died, frozen solid just outside my own front door.
My last sight was Ethan, my boyfriend, feasting on my food inside, watching me claw at the glass until my fingers bled.
His family, the Scotts, laughed as I froze, adjusting curtains to block me out, celebrating my demise.
They left me to perish in the brutal blizzard, utterly and completely abandoned.
That death was absolute, excruciating, and unforgettable.
But then, I jolted awake, submerged in 1200-thread-count sheets, the Rockies bathed in sunlight outside my window.
It was ten days before the storm, before my betrayal.
A wave of nausea hit me, the phantom hunger and cold still clinging to my bones, but then a cold, hard fury replaced it.
This time, my cabin, my wealth, and my meticulous planning wouldn' t be my downfall; they would be my ultimate weapon. Her Perfect Swap
Serenity Now My husband, Mark, hummed happily in the shower, the sound a dull comfort. I picked up his phone, intending to set his alarm, a routine task in my seemingly perfect life.
Then, a new message flashed: "Jessica." Followed by words that shattered my world: "Can't wait for the road trip, baby. Soon she'll be gone, and we'll be rich." Road trip? He' d mentioned one for us, next weekend.
My fingers trembled unlocking his phone, our anniversary the passcode-irony's cruelest stab. Months of messages with Jessica, my adoptive sister and childhood tormentor, confirmed it: they were plotting my murder. "The brakes will fail on that riverside road," Mark wrote. "The insurance money will set us and the baby up for life." A photo showed Jessica with a newborn, and Mark's reply: "Our little one deserves the best." My marriage, my comfortable life, was a cold, calculated lie.
Mark emerged, smiling, a predator's grin. He chattered about the "beautiful" road trip, oblivious, each word a hammer blow. He was going to kill me. My own sister, his accomplice. My cherished life, a carefully constructed trap.
He left with a casual "Love you!", but the silence that followed was deafening. Then, rage burned away the shock. They wouldn't get away with this. Whispers from Room 7
Meng Xinyu Two years. My spirit has been tethered to the rotting wood and peeling paint of the Starlight Motel. They told everyone I died here—a self-inflicted wound, the 'problem child' finally snapping. All I felt was a hollow ache, a desperate longing for them to finally see me, to see the truth.
Then, a chilling shift. My parents, Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, their voices tight with feigned distress, and my 'perfect' brother Mark, his tone smooth with false concern, were making plans. They'd invited Leo Maxwell, the host of "Legend Trippers," a ghost hunter, to the Starlight. Their aim: to livestream "proof" that I'm a malevolent, vengeful spirit haunting them.
The livestream started, and I watched, helpless, as Mark orchestrated his performance. He painted me as a drug-addled, violent monster, choking back fake sobs as he claimed I "turned the weapon on myself." Leo found "evidence"—a rusty hunting knife and a photo with a chilling message in "my handwriting," clearly planted. The online comments flooded with sympathy for my 'poor' family, condemning me.
My spirit burned with a silent, furious injustice. I wanted to scream, to expose the lies piling up, a suffocating wall I couldn't push through. They wanted to paint me as a monster, again, and I was voiceless. If only they knew what really happened that night. If only they knew who the real monster was.
But then, away from the staged theatrics, Leo's curiosity led him to a dusty old Wurlitzer jukebox in the forgotten diner. Inside, nestled among the wires, he discovered a small, battery-operated cassette recorder. He pressed play, and from the static, my voice, my real voice, hesitantly began to speak. ENRAGED SOUL
otu Harriet 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 My Family's Faith, My Bloody Fate
Landslide 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. 
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