Star Cruiser

Star Cruiser's Books and Stories

The Secret I Heard in the Operating Room Changed Everything

Modern

4.0

I'd had a hopeless crush on Rhett Beaumont since I was practically a kid. He was my dad's business partner – older, suave, the kind of Southern gentleman who could charm anyone. For years, I'd built up these elaborate daydreams about him. Then, at the annual Historical Society Gala, he finally seemed to see me. His smile, just for me, made my heart do that stupid little flip. He leaned in, promising a private chat later, and my head was spinning. This was it. But "it" turned into a horrifying trap. A week later, after a staged mugging where he played the hero, we ended up in a passionate encounter. That single night led to his childhood sweetheart, Caroline, crashing her car. Then came our cold, guilt-driven marriage, years of painful, invasive IVF treatments, and him controlling every aspect of my life. The final blow? Hearing him coldly tell the doctors, "Just let her go if it comes to that," as I bled out on an operating table. He never loved me. Not for a second. I was just a pawn, a convenient distraction in his twisted games. He blamed me for Caroline's accident, resented my very existence. My body became a failed experiment, my spirit crushed under his icy indifference. All those years of adoration, wasted on a man who saw me as less than nothing. The injustice of it all was a physical ache. How could I have been so stupidly blind to his manipulation? He'd used my innocent crush to utterly destroy me. The man I'd put on a pedestal despised me enough to watch me die. Then, blackness. My last thought: what a complete fool I'd been. But in the next instant, I gasped, my eyes snapping open. The scent of lilies and champagne filled the air. I was standing by that same floral arrangement at the Gala, the night it all began. Rhett Beaumont was walking towards me, that familiar, predatory smile on his face. I was dead. I knew I was. Yet, here I was. A second chance? This time, things would be different.

Love's Betrayal: A Forged Marriage

Romance

5.0

"I want a divorce." The words, quiet but firm, cut through the tense air. For five years, I, Harlow Love, had been Kaden Barnes's wife in name only, a transaction to salvage his family's image after my father died saving his life. I endured his cruelty, his humiliation, and watched him openly love another woman. When I finally gathered the courage to ask for freedom, his mother, the matriarch, coldly informed me I'd have to endure the family's "disciplinary measures"—thirty lashes—to prove I wasn't being cast out. But then, a shocking truth shattered my world: "A forgery," Kaden casually revealed. "That marriage isn't even legal." My five years of suffering, the beatings, the public shame, all for a lie. The relief was short-lived. Brittaney, Kaden's mistress, framed me for hurting her dog, then for trying to kill her during a horseback ride. Kaden, blinded by his devotion to her, believed every lie. He brutally punished me, breaking my leg and dislocating my arm, leaving me for dead. I was just a prop, a placeholder, less than a spoiled dog in his eyes. My pain, my dignity, meant nothing. Why did he believe her every word, every tear, over my bleeding body? But in the depths of despair, a lifeline appeared. His mother, horrified by his cruelty, secretly sent me to London, granting me the freedom I had so desperately craved. I was finally free, and I vowed never to see Kaden Barnes again.

The Family's Secret: A Love Consumed

Modern

5.0

My sister, Honora, told me I killed our family in a car crash. Our parents and my adopted brother, Aloysius, were dead. She said it was all my fault. She told me I had a debt of blood and ruin to repay. For eight years, I worked three jobs, my body aching from sixteen-hour days. I lived in a tiny, damp room, ate the cheapest bread, and sent every single penny I earned to her. The money was for one thing: to buy back our family's lake house. It was the symbol of the life I had destroyed, the one place I thought I could find forgiveness. After eight years of sacrificing my health and my youth, I finally saved enough. I went to the house, ready to atone. But when I peered through the window, my world stopped. My parents were there, alive, holding champagne glasses. And sitting between them, smiling, was Aloysius—the boy who was supposed to be dead. They were celebrating his birthday. Then I heard my mother speak. "It's also Jesse's birthday today," she said casually. "We've punished him for five years. Don't you think it's time we bring him back?" Honora's smile vanished. "No. We agreed on seven years. Not one day less." Hidden in the shadows, I clutched the medical report in my hand. Their cruel game was about to be cut short. I was already dying.

Rebuilding A Life, Not A Home

Romance

5.0

For twenty years, Liam Davis was my world. From juice boxes in kindergarten to our first kiss under the bleachers, he was my constant. I put my architecture career on hold, working a quiet desk job so his tech startup could thrive, believing his dream was our dream. Then, one warm evening, as I sorted our old college textbooks, he walked in, a wide, charming smile on his face. "I need the spare set of apartment keys," he said casually. My heart sank when he clarified: "Not for us, Ava. For me. For Chloe. To decorate our wedding home." Chloe. The social media influencer whose perfect life filled the internet. My mind went blank. Wedding home? My fiancé? He was getting married next month. He scoffed at my devastation. "It was convenient. You were always there. It was easy. Like marrying your right hand. You don' t put a ring on it." His words, meant to shatter, ignited a cold fury. My sacrifices, my career, my love - reduced to a crude, dismissive metaphor. I handed him the keys to our apartment, and watched him change the door' s passcode to my birthday-only to instantly change it again. "Password successfully changed," a female voice announced from the smart lock, sounding the death knell of my life as I knew it. He walked out, leaving me alone in what was no longer our home. The tears came then, hot paths through the dust on my cheeks. At my parents' house, still reeling, the doorbell rang. It was Liam, snow melting in his hair. He sneered, "What the hell did you tell your parents? Did you send them to beg for a wedding? My mother's furious your low-class family tried to trap me." He called me pathetic, unclean. He gloated about changing the apartment code, implying I' d trash the place out of spite. Something snapped inside me. "Get out," I said, my voice rising to a raw scream. "GET OUT!" He snatched a cherished architectural sketch, my childhood dream of a treehouse. "It was our dream house, wasn' t it, Ava? But it was never exciting. Like left hand holding right hand. Familiar, but ultimately, you' re just holding yourself." He cooed into his phone, "Hey, baby... just wrapping up an old loose end. She's nothing. I love you too, Chloe." My mother raged, detailing all I' d given up, how I built his company. "A spoiled kid with a half-baked idea! This is how you repay her?" He countered, "If you' re going to come begging, at least bring a respectable dowry, not just the sob story of a plumber." He tore a hand-carved necklace, his ten-year anniversary gift, from my neck. "Chloe would like it." In that moment, the love I' d felt for twenty years curdled into pure void. I raised my right hand, the one he' d mocked, and slapped him across the face. "My right hand is my own, Liam," I said, my voice steady and cold. "And from now on, it will be busy building my own life. A life you are no longer a part of." I turned my back, walking towards the kitchen, leaving him stunned. There would be no regret.

His Threat, Her Silent Strength

Modern

5.0

The order confirmation email glowed on my phone, a beacon of pride for Emily, my sister and the first in our family to graduate college. This custom gown wasn't just fabric; it was a symbol of her extraordinary achievement, bought with my hard-earned money. An hour later, a message from "Mark\'s Master Gowns" shattered that peace: "Your address is flagged as a high-risk area. We require an additional $50 insurance fee." Then, a venomous follow-up: "So you admit it. You\'re trying to scam me. I know your type. You order expensive stuff, then claim it never arrived to get it for free." My attempts to de-escalate, to explain I was a social worker, were met with relentless, ugly insults. He canceled my order, kept my money, and then called, his voice a snarl. "Is this the scammer, Sarah Miller?" My heart hammered. "You have my money. You haven\'t sent my product. That makes you a thief." His threat hung heavy in the air: "You don\'t know who you\'re messing with. I have your address. I know where you live. Maybe I should pay you a little visit and we can sort this out in person." He actually hung up. I stood there, stunned, believing it was over. I was wrong. The next morning, my face, labeled "WARNING: SCAM ARTIST AT WORK," was plastered all over local social media. My boss gave me 24 hours to make it disappear or lose my job. He didn' t care about the truth. Then, Mark brought his harassment right to my doorstep, organizing a public shaming spectacle on my quiet street. His megaphone blared, "She lives right here! The woman who steals from hardworking veterans!" As my neighbors watched, judging, he spoke chillingly to a confederate, "This is how you get them to pay. A little public pressure and they\'ll give you anything." Humiliated, desperate, and feeling utterly defeated, I capitulated, wiring him a substantial payment. I had paid the monster. He had won. But as I watched him drive away, a cold, unyielding resolve settled deep within me. This wasn\'t surrender. This was just the beginning. I picked up my phone and dialed 9-1-1.

Her Borrowed Life

Romance

5.0

The first thing I registered was the cold, then a throbbing migraine as a flood of memories that weren' t mine overwhelmed me. I was Anya, the new, unwelcome wife of ruthless Julian Vance, trapped in a mansion that felt more like a museum. This wasn't my life; my own had ended in a stupid, unremarkable accident. The previous Anya had been desperate, marrying for money, set to become just another one of Julian's possessions, heading for a very bad end. But a disembodied voice inside me had given a clear directive: survive. Change the script. My immediate challenge: Leo, Julian' s nephew, who stood at the top of the grand staircase, his face resentful. The memories told me the original Anya had been cruel to him, turning him into a rival, destined to make my future miserable. I was supposed to be his wicked stepmother. A cold dread settled in. No, I wouldn' t be. The original Anya's path led to ruin, her abuse of the boy ultimately causing her downfall. This wasn't my life, but it was my problem now. My new job wasn't just to survive; it was to get paid, and step one involved flipping the script entirely. I wasn't just going to survive; I was going to explode this whole narrative. My first strategic move: win over the angry kid who stared daggers at me from the stairs.

The Price of a Mother's Pain

Billionaires

5.0

Sarah Winchester, the silent matriarch of Texas's vast Winchester empire, lived reclusively, her custom silver-tipped cane a constant reminder of the bullet she took for her son, David. David, who worshipped his mother, now headed the dynasty. But his fiancée, Brittany, a superficial socialite, dismissed Sarah as an inconvenient "crazy old ranch hand' s widow," a relic to be removed before her grand announcement. High on champagne and arrogance, Brittany and her posse stormed Sarah' s guesthouse. When Sarah calmly revealed her identity as David' s mother, Brittany laughed, sneering at her simple appearance. After brutally knocking out Sarah' s loyal housekeeper, Brittany turned a chilling fury on Sarah herself. She ordered her goons to assault the matriarch: breaking her remaining good leg, wrenching her arm, hacking off her hair with garden shears. Sarah, gagged and bound, was then stuffed into a coarse feed sack. In a horrifying act of calculated deception, Brittany presented the sack to David, lying that it contained a "trespasser" who was viciously badmouthing his mother. Blinded by rage and believing he was defending Sarah' s honor, David grabbed a brutal branding iron and savagely struck the sack multiple times, ordering his own mother' s broken body to be thrown to the coyotes in the remote "back forty." Imagine the unspeakable horror: Sarah, battered and discarded, listening as her beloved son delivers the final, soul-crushing blows. How could the man she shielded from death inflict such a monstrous fate? Why was his devotion so easily twisted into deadly rage? Left for dead, she miraculously clung to life, the wild coyotes circling, eerily silent, almost protective, as dawn approached. This unimaginable betrayal forged a steel resolve in Sarah. While David, consumed by guilt, wreaked meticulous, terrifying revenge on Brittany before meeting his own tragic end, the powerful Winchester throne stood empty. Sarah, the wounded matriarch, would rise. Her silver-tipped cane, once a crutch, would become a formidable scepter, as she steps forward to rule her empire with an unyielding iron will, a legend born from pain and unbreakable resolve.

Playing the Pawn, Winning the Game

Billionaires

5.0

For seven long years, I've lived in this gilded cage, the King family mansion, playing the role of the quiet, mousy charity case, pathetically infatuated with Ethan Prescott – Victoria King' s dazzling fiancé. Everyone, especially Victoria, thought I was a fool, a harmless fixture always mooning over her prize. Then, hidden in the library shadows, I overheard their wicked plan. Victoria' s voice, sharp with disdain, saying I was 'still mooning over him.' And Ethan, smooth as silk, calling it 'useful,' for 'keeps her docile.' The chilling part? Their scheme to ensure I was 'out of sight for good,' and horrifyingly, Ethan's suggestion: 'Or better yet, pregnant. That would certainly tie things up neatly, wouldn't it?' My breath caught, but inside, a cold fire ignited. Pregnant. So that was their game: ruin me completely, tie me down, then discard me. And I played my part beautifully. I let them see my 'blush,' feigned shyness, even made sure they 'overheard' my morning sickness. They exchanged triumphant glances, utterly convinced their cruel masterpiece was unfolding perfectly. They believed I was a mere pawn, eating out of their hands, destined for a pauper's grave like my mother, Sarah Vance. They took everything from her – her life, her dignity – and then from me. Every sneer, every whispered insult, every moment of humiliation I endured was a necessary sacrifice, a foundation built on their scorn. But they were fools, hopelessly blinded by their arrogance. They had no idea who they were truly dealing with. Ethan, their precious golden boy, was just a finely crafted key, and I was learning every single one of its grooves. Let them think they were in control. The game, this grand, devastating game of revenge, had been mine all along.

The Senator's Secret Son

Romance

5.0

I' m Sarah Jenkins, an independent graphic designer who only longed for a child, not a husband. Five years ago, after a traumatic past, I built a quiet, safe life in Northern California with my son, Leo. I was finally marrying Mark, a kind, stable man, promising us the uncomplicated future we deserved. But peace was fleeting. A week before my wedding, Jax, security chief for Alexander Sterling-the powerful man I' d fled-appeared. He knew. They found me. Then, Alexander himself stepped from a black SUV, confirming my greatest fear: my meticulously faked death and new identity were exposed. The once-amnesiac man, now a formidable Senator, was intent on reclaiming what he believed was his. He publicly crashed my wedding, declaring Leo his son and me his wife. He tore apart the quiet world I' d painstakingly built, leaving me utterly exposed before our stunned community. My heart pounded with terror. Six years hiding, fearing discovery, only to be dragged back into his dangerous orbit? The abandonment, the cold payoff, years of fear-all surged back. What did Senator Sterling, a man of immense influence, truly want from the woman he' d discarded and the child he' d presumed dead? Then he knelt, not accusingly, but with a profound plea. He presented a stunning prenuptial agreement securing my independence and Leo' s future. He hadn' t come to control, but to confess, commit, and offer a path I never dreamed possible. Was this a genuine chance, or a trap disguised as freedom?