Roderic Penn
14 Published Stories
Roderic Penn's Books and Stories
Broken Vows, Unbreakable Spirit Emerges
Modern On my seventh wedding anniversary, my husband, Camden, publicly announced his affair with his much younger personal trainer, Kai. The video went viral before I even woke up.
But the real betrayal wasn't the affair. It was the sudden, horrifying realization that two years ago, he forced me to terminate our long-awaited pregnancy because it was "bad timing" for his new relationship with Kai.
He and Kai humiliated me in my own home, shattering the glass sculpture I'd spent months creating for our anniversary. "It's just glass," Kai sneered. "Easily replaceable." Camden then tossed the broken pieces into the trash, along with the last of my love for him.
Years of swallowing his betrayals, of enduring his cruelty, finally came to an end. The woman who once crumbled at his feet was gone, replaced by a cold, profound emptiness.
I watched him stand there, smug and triumphant with his new lover, completely oblivious to the storm he had unleashed. He thought he had broken me, but he had only forged me into something new, something unbreakable.
"Fine," I said, my voice a calm whisper that cut through his arrogance. "Divorce me."
This wasn't just the end of a marriage. It was the beginning of his ruin. My Stepbrother's Deadly Game of Love
Modern I started a dangerous game to break my perfect, cold stepbrother, Hunter. Our forbidden affair became a secret inferno, and I thought I was the one in control, the one teaching him how to feel.
Then an anonymous video arrived on my phone.
It showed Hunter with a young intern, repeating our most intimate lines, my words, my lessons, verbatim. "Does this need to be taught, too?" he asked her, his voice a chilling echo of our past.
He confessed it was all a calculated revenge plot against my mother. He left me to collapse in the street, sick and alone, and the car crash that followed shattered my legs, ending my ballet career forever.
My love was a weapon he used to burn my world to the ground. My body was broken, my dreams turned to ash. I had lost everything to a man I thought I had broken, but who had instead destroyed me.
But from the ashes, a new dream was born. I became a choreographer, my pain fueling my art. Now, years later, as I stand on the world stage, he watches from the shadows, a ghost consumed by a regret he can never atone for. Broken by the Alpha: The Moon Singer's Rise
Werewolf I was the Alpha’s Fated Mate, but to Jacob, I was nothing more than a tool to soothe his rage with my piano music.
He paraded Kassandra around as his true love, treating me like a servant in my own home.
When Rogues attacked our territory, Jacob had to make a split-second choice.
He chose to save Kassandra, believing her lie that she was pregnant with his heir.
While he protected her, Kassandra looked me in the eye and stomped on my hand—crushing the bones and destroying my ability to play the music that kept the pack sane.
I left the pack that night, broken and alone.
It took Jacob weeks to discover the truth.
Kassandra was never pregnant; she had been taking birth control for years and stealing millions from the pack treasury.
Realizing he had sacrificed his true mate for a liar, Jacob destroyed Kassandra and came crawling back to me.
He found me in Vienna, healed and rising as the powerful White Wolf Luna.
He knelt in the dirt, slicing his own arm with a silver blade, begging for a chance to bleed for me the way I had bled for him.
He offered me his Alpha title, his fortune, and his life.
I looked at the man who had once been my entire world and felt nothing but a cold, hollow silence.
"I don't hate you, Jacob," I said, turning to the man who truly loved me.
"I just don't care." My First Love, My Last Revenge
Romance My stepbrother, Booker Harvey, saved me from a life of abuse. He was my protector, my teacher, and my first love. For two years, our small apartment was a sun-drenched dream.
Then he went on a business trip. I called him, pregnant with our child, only for another woman to answer his phone.
He hung up on me. Later, his stepmother put him on speakerphone so I could hear him laugh off our entire relationship.
"Tell her it was just for fun," he said. "She shouldn't take it so seriously."
Just for fun. The words shattered me. I got rid of our son, took the hush money, and vanished.
The girl who loved him died that day. In her place, I became "Nine," a ruthless operative forged in betrayal.
Now, five years later, an explosion has left me with "amnesia." When the police ask who will be my guardian, I point to the man who broke my world.
"Him," I say with a shy smile. "He's the most handsome." Shattered Dreams, Stolen Lives
Modern The world first saw the crash.
A cherry-red sports car, crumpled like a can, embedded in the ornate gates of the prestigious Blackwood Art Gallery.
Inside, I was slumped over the wheel, a faint, serene smile on my lips that made no sense.
Gallery staff rushed out, their faces pale, trying to pull my eyelids shut.
They wouldn't stay closed.
My wide, vacant eyes stared out, refusing to be silenced.
The police called it a tragic accident.
The powerful Blackwood family issued a brief statement, an attempt to smother the truth with their influence.
But truth has a way of finding cracks.
An intern leaked my autopsy report: tongue surgically removed, knees bruised with calluses, stomach filled not with food, but with gnawed animal bones and phlegm.
My death became a national nightmare.
People raged online, demanding #JusticeForJaneDoe.
I watched as a wispy, translucent soul.
Dr. Alex Peterson, the medical examiner, refused to be silenced, seeing past the official story.
"This wasn't an accident," he said.
"She delivered a message."
Pressure from city hall mounted, ordering him to close the case.
Then, something impossible happened.
The stitches meant to keep my eyes closed snapped, and they opened again, a silent act of defiance.
The internet erupted.
My spirit couldn't rest.
People began digging, finding old articles about "muse-slaves," human beings treated as living art objects.
It felt terrifyingly real.
Dr. Peterson defied his superiors, ruling my death a homicide.
With public outcry, a full investigation began.
But every lead was a dead end: no wallet, no phone, disabled GPS, conveniently malfunctioning cameras.
I longed to scream names, places.
The public's patience wore thin, protestors demanding answers.
Then, a radical idea emerged: a "Memory-Reader," a device to access the last images in my brain.
Against all odds, the authorities agreed.
My body, cryogenically preserved, was placed on a stage.
The Blackwood family sat in the front row, an obscenity of feigned innocence.
Among them, Michael, my brother, with a troubled look in his eyes.
Dr. Peterson fitted a chrome helmet to my head.
The monitors flickered to life.
Static.
Chloe Blackwood's dismissive voice echoed, "What a waste of time. This is boring."
But then, a jolt.
The static cleared.
The world was inside my head.
A dimly lit room.
My parents and a shadowy figure.
"She is the price," my mother said, emotionless.
"A daughter for a pigment. We can always have another."
A collective gasp filled the auditorium.
The truth began to unfold. More Than Ashes
Romance The smell of smoke woke me up, a thick, acrid scent clinging to my throat.
My heart pounded as sirens pierced the night, a chilling prelude.
Three missed calls from Marco, my dad's sous chef. "It' s the restaurant. It' s… there was a fire."
I ran, the air growing thick with the smell of burning wood and something chemical, something awful.
My world shattered when I saw it: the hollowed-out shell of "The Amber Hearth," my parents' restaurant, my entire life, consumed by flames.
A police officer stopped me, but I could only stare at the wreckage, the place my parents worked, lived, and breathed.
Weeks later, I was living with Chloe, my food critic girlfriend, in her pristine, minimalist apartment.
She supported me, made calls, held me when nightmares struck. "We'll get through this together," she promised.
But that promise felt hollow when the simple click-click-whoosh of a gas stove sent me stumbling in terror, and she quickly turned it off, her embrace distant even as she whispered, "I'll be here for you."
The cracks widened when she abandoned our quiet anniversary dinner, again, for Daniel, her 'anxiety-ridden' former mentor.
"He needs me, Liam," she'd always say, framing his alleged illness as a virtue, my need for her as a selfish demand.
I watched her move, efficient and precise, realizing I was just an obligation, a managed crisis she was bored with.
Then, a text from my friend: Chloe's rave review of Daniel's new menu just dropped, a "Triumph of a Troubled Genius."
The publication date? Last night. Our anniversary. She wasn' t working; she was dining with him, relaunching his career.
The anger burned clean and hot; her entire compassionate façade was a calculated deception.
When she walked in, I confronted her, the ugly truth filling her perfectly curated apartment: she chose him, lied to me, used my grief as cover.
Her icy response, "If that's how you feel, then maybe you should leave," was all I needed. I left.
Days later, I saw him letting himself into her apartment, confirming the sickening truth: I was just a convenient cover for their secret affair, a grieving fool in their shared territory.
I had defended her, pushed away friends who tried to warn me, all for a lie.
My anger, humiliation, and shame fused into a chilling resolve. I wasn't just heartbroken; I was done.
This wasn't a relationship; it was a fraud. And now, armed with the brutal truth, I had to build something new, far from her memory. When Silence Plays The Melody
Modern "Molly's recital is her last dream, Jocelyn. Your hands are a perfect match."
That' s what Ethan said, calm as if asking for salt, not for me to give up my entire future.
We were in his pristine apartment, my cello, my ticket out, leaning against the wall.
He wanted me to sacrifice my livelihood, my identity, my very hands, for his childhood friend, Molly, who claimed a rare nerve condition was destroying her dream of being a pianist.
I refused, firmly.
His handsome face tightened. "Don' t be selfish. I' ve given you everything. A good life, a way out of that hellhole you came from. The least you can do is help my friend."
Before I could process the betrayal in his words, to realize I was just a charity case and the bill was due, he invited me to a "support party" for Molly.
I drank the glass he handed me, and that was my last clear memory.
I woke up on a leather couch, my left hand wrapped in bandages, a sharp, chemical smell in the air.
Panic seized me as two of Ethan's friends held me down.
Molly stood over me, triumphant, pointing at my bandaged hand. "Guess you won' t be playing that cello anytime soon."
I looked at Ethan, my heart shattering, as he stood by the window, his back to me.
He had let them cut into me. He had orchestrated this.
I tried to move my fingers; they were numb.
A deep, terrifying tremor started in my palm, shaking my entire arm.
They violently ripped away my chance, my scholarship, my entire life.
Why would he do this to me? How could the man I loved, my supposed savior, betray me so cruelly?
I was left on the apartment floor, concussed from his shove, my dreams reduced to a tremor and a hospital bill.
But I refused to be disposable.
He said I was nothing without him, but he was wrong.
I grabbed my phone, and for the first time, I chose myself. The Discarded Wife's Billion-Dollar Comeback
Romance My life, carefully constructed over six blissful years with my amnesiac husband Julian and our sweet son Ethan, felt like a peaceful dream.
I had found Julian injured on the roadside years ago, and together we built a loving, albeit simple, existence.
Then, a sleek black car, a stark contrast to our humble Ohio home, pulled up outside, its occupants shattering our world.
Julian's forgotten, aristocratic mother emerged, and with her presence, his lost memories violently flooded back.
He looked at me, his wife, the mother of his child, and his eyes, once full of love, turned to chips of ice, dismissing our entire shared life as an "unfortunate chapter," a mere "embarrassment."
His mother coolly offered me a shocking sum—a million dollars—to simply "disappear," while Julian stood by, silent, as his new fiancée, Veronica, openly sneered, calling me a pathetic "charity case."
But in that moment of profound betrayal, something extraordinary happened: a terrifying premonition, a vivid flash of my future if I stayed.
I saw years of excruciating humiliation, a desolate existence in their grand mansion where I was nothing but a servant, my beloved son Ethan tragically turned against me, and finally, my own confinement in a cold mental institution.
The nightmare culminated with older Ethan, his youthful face twisted in pity, raising a syringe to me, whispering, "It's for the best, Mother," as darkness consumed me.
Returning to the harsh reality of my porch, the raw pain of the present was strangely dulled, an old scar compared to the horror I had just witnessed.
I knew with absolute certainty that I could not, would not, live that devastating fate again.
So, when Julian's mother extended the check as a final dismissal, I met her gaze, outwardly calm but with a newfound, steely resolve.
"Thank you," I said, my voice steady, then added my decisive condition: a fully funded MBA from a prestigious London university.
This wasn't just a betrayal; it was my unexpected rebirth, a radical turning point to forge a future entirely on my own terms. He Broke Her, She Built Herself
Modern Eight years.
Eight years of quiet longing, finally answered.
Sarah Miller stared at the positive pregnancy test, her hand trembling slightly, a small, hopeful smile touching her lips.
This was it. Mark and she were finally going to be parents. Their whispered dream was coming true.
Her phone buzzed.
An unknown Instagram account. A direct message.
Curiosity pricked. She pressed play.
The shaky video captured Mark' s unmistakable voice: "...after eight years, the spark just isn't the same with Sarah."
Her blood ran cold. The hopeful smile vanished, replaced by a stark, gaping void.
The pregnancy test clattered to the floor.
Her world tilted.
A flash in a mirror revealed Chloe Davis, the intern from Mark' s firm.
Suddenly, the "late nights" and phone secrecy clicked.
This wasn't just a fading spark; an illicit fire was being stoked.
The cruelty was a physical blow, especially on this day.
The next morning, at the OB-GYN, her confirmed pregnancy felt hollow.
Leaving, she saw them: Mark, his arm around a limping Chloe.
His tone dismissive: "Another fertility consultation, Sarah? Don' t stress."
The cloying perfume, now familiar, suffocated her.
How could he be so casually cruel, so protective of his "mentee," oblivious to what she carried?
Her voice dangerously quiet, Sarah pulled out her phone.
"A mentee?" she asked, and held up the screen, letting Mark's recorded betrayal fill the air.
The truth was out. This was war. The Scripted Villain's Second Chance
Romance I loved Isabella fiercely, my childhood sweetheart, the sunshine of my life.
Our families were bound, our futures intertwined.
I thought we were destined.
Then came the betrayal.
She shattered my family's legacy, my parents' health, and finally, my very life.
As I lay dying, brutally tortured, I saw her, cold and triumphant, with Daniel Chen-the man she loved, whose 'death' she believed I orchestrated.
My last, agonizing thought: This was never my story.
I was just the villain, a disposable pawn for their destined romance.
My parents ruined, my loyal dog, Max, cruelly taken on her orders-all for their 'happy ending.'
The cosmic injustice hit harder than any physical torment.
How could my entire existence be nothing more than a manipulated plot device?
A tragic footnote in someone else's grand love story?
The sheer absurdity, the profound unfairness, was suffocating.
But then, I gasped.
I wasn't dying.
I was back.
Years before my horrific end.
I remembered this exact moment: the breaking point.
This time, I knew the script.
And I would burn it all down before it burned me again.
My life, my rules. The Unseen Savior
Romance For years, I've endured my ex-fiancé Ethan's cruel abuse, forced into servitude for him and his wife, Chloe.
This was my only leverage to secure the life-saving treatment for my little brother, Leo, who battled a rare and fatal illness.
But then, Chloe maliciously fabricated evidence, framing me for the mysterious disappearance of Ethan's sister, Olivia, years ago.
In a vindictive act of 'justice,' Ethan canceled Leo's experimental therapy, condemning him to an agonizing, preventable death.
Leo died in my arms, and with his last breath, my own life began a horrifying countdown; a hidden family curse decreed I had just seven days to live after his passing.
Blinded by vengeance, Ethan not only denied me a proper goodbye but seized Leo's body, treating his remains as cold, scientific property.
Every moment was a fresh, unbearable humiliation, solidifying his mistaken belief in my guilt and his escalating torment.
How could he be so utterly blind, so heartlessly cruel, when he didn't even know the profound truths connecting us?
He had no idea about the inexplicable, fatal co-dependency I shared with Leo, nor that years ago, I was his anonymous bone marrow donor, literally saving his life during his own critical illness.
Just as all hope faded, and I lay dying, imprisoned in a dark, cold cellar, a ghost from the past miraculously reappeared: Olivia.
She's alive, and now, she's ready to finally expose the horrifying truth about Chloe's criminal family, the real murderers of our parents, and Chloe's intricate web of manipulative lies that have shattered my life and threaten to end it. The Platinum Card Betrayal
Romance My son, Sam, practically vibrated with excitement.
"Future Leaders Summer Institute, Dad! Can you believe it?"
I smiled, a rare, soft expression.
I’d made sure of it; a quiet call to the university, a valuable donation – a small price for Sam’s future, far from my company’s shadow.
I preferred my quiet life as a rare book appraiser, anyway.
The donation was anonymous.
A week later, Sam’s face fell.
"Dad… they… they gave my spot away."
A cold knot tightened in my stomach.
The email spoke of "a significant new benefactor" and "Mr. Rick Sterling’s generous contribution" for his son, RJ Sterling.
Rick Sterling.
I knew that name from my wife, Tiffany’s, obsessive social media.
Then, the punch to the gut: "$150,000 processed via a platinum credit card."
The last four digits were sickeningly familiar.
It was Tiffany’s supplementary card.
My money.
She’d used my money to buy Sam’s spot for someone else.
My own son, crushed because of my wife’s blatant betrayal.
A quiet rage, cold and sharp, began to build.
This wasn't just about a summer program; it was a theft, a deep personal wound.
Dean Holloway, the smarmy director, would be at the welcome reception tonight.
He clearly enabled this.
I looked at Sam’s devastated face.
"Get dressed, Sam. We’re going to that reception."
Sam looked confused.
"But Dad, I didn’t get in."
My voice was calm, but with an edge he’d never heard.
I needed to see this.
I needed to understand the true depth of Tiffany’s involvement and Rick Sterling’s arrogance.
My son’s disappointment was a raw wound.
I would make this right. The Discarded Wife's Return
Romance Our crystal chandeliers glittered in our San Francisco mansion.
It was our tenth anniversary party, a celebration of a decade of my supposedly perfect marriage.
Then, Richard stood by the grand staircase, his arm around a visibly pregnant woman I didn’t recognize.
Jessica Wang, his new PR manager, beamed, placing a hand on her belly.
His voice, smooth and practiced, silenced the room as he announced, “Emily and I are expecting!”
The ensuing wave of murmurs and Jessica’s proud smile clarified the brutal truth.
The humiliation was immediate and public.
But nothing compared to the depths of his callous disregard that followed.
He forced me to move into a guest room, demanded I cater to his mistress's whims, and even stepped over me when I collapsed from a heart attack.
The ultimate betrayal came when he *forced* me, with my rare O-negative blood and congenital heart defect, to undergo a medically dangerous blood donation – for *her*.
My life force, my very existence, was merely a disposable convenience for his new family.
I was supposed to be a devoted wife, yet how could the man I spent ten years with be so utterly monstrous, so devoid of basic humanity?
But as I lay weak in the hospital, gasping for air, a quiet defiance ignited within me.
With my meticulously accumulated 'freedom fund,' and the unwavering clandestine support of a loyal friend, I knew this wasn't just an escape.
I was going to dismantle his meticulously built empire, piece by excruciating piece, finally reclaiming my life. After leaving: Love with the Heir
Modern Fu Jincheng saved my life, and for three years, I followed him around like his little shadow.
He got into a car accident, and I took care of him with all my heart.
Later, I secretly looked at his chat history with a friend, and he referred to me as a “dog” who followed him for three years, saying I was driving him crazy and that I was really cheap.
His friend chimed in, teasing me that I wanted to marry him and enter into a wealthy family.
Fu Jincheng mocked me to my face, saying I wasn’t worthy of being Mrs. Fu.
When I realized I had mistaken my savior, I turned and walked away.
But as I left, Fu Jincheng went frantic, searching everywhere for me.
Finally, when he found me, his eyes were filled with joy.
“Susu, I finally found you.”
“Hello, I’m your sister-in-law.” You might like
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." 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." 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 Queen Returns: Pampered By Her Three Powerhouse Brothers
Kleon Samorodnitsky After five years of playing the perfect daughter, Rylie was exposed as a stand-in. Her fiancé bolted, friends scattered, and her adoptive brothers shoved her out, telling her to grovel back to her real family. Done with humiliation, she swore to claw back what was hers. Shock followed: her birth family ruled the town's wealth. Overnight, she became their precious girl. The boardroom brother canceled meetings, the genius brother ditched his lab, the musician brother postponed a tour. As those who spurned her begged forgiveness, Admiral Brad Morgan calmly declared, "She's already taken." Traded Husbands, Tangled Hearts: Can Destiny Be Changed?
Mia Caldwell In their previous lives, Gracie married Theo. Outwardly, they were the perfect academic couple, but privately, she became nothing more than a stepping stone for his ambition, and met a tragic end.
Her younger sister Ellie wed Brayden, only to be abandoned for his true love, left alone and disgraced.
This time, both sisters were reborn. Ellie rushed to marry Theo, chasing the success Gracie once had-unaware she was repeating the same heartbreak.
Gracie instead entered a contract marriage with Brayden. But when danger struck, he defended her fiercely.
Could fate finally rewrite their tragic endings? Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: You Can't Afford Me Now
Theodora Birnir The whispers said that out of bitter jealousy, Hadley shoved Eric's beloved down the stairs, robbing the unborn child of life.
To avenge, Eric forced Hadley abroad and completely cut her off. Years later, she reemerged, and they felt like strangers.
When they met again, she was the nightclub's star, with men ready to pay fortunes just to glimpse her elusive performance.
Unable to contain himself, Eric blocked her path, asking, "Is this truly how you earn a living now? Why not come back to me?"
Hadley's lips curved faintly. "If you’re eager to see me, you’d better join the queue, darling." 
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