sunshine_vivi
1 Published Story
sunshine_vivi's Book and Story
His Angel
Short stories "Anyone but not me?" His voice was filled with malice.
"Not me, huh?"
"Let's have some fun. I'll give you two options." He tilted his head and glanced at me.
"Either be mine or get fired."
He really had become the worst person. I had never even imagined in my dream that he would use my weakness against me. He knew I would be homeless without this job. He played the game really well. His words muddled me for some moments. But, I wasn't the one to get abused because of my own weakness.
Let's become homeless.
I thought.
I walked closer to him and poked him with my index finger. As soon as he turned around, I pulled his tie and let my mouth get closer to his ears.
"I only heard one option. I resign. Hasta la Vista, BABY."
I let his tie slip and looked right at his eyes. His eyes were filled with surprise as if he hadn't seen this coming from my mouth. I spun around and walked toward the exit.
I was getting really proud of myself in spite of knowing the consequence of my action. I was ready to be homeless than to become his toy.
I didn't see this coming but on the second I opened the door, I was swiped away from the ground.
Danish had picked me up with his right hand and took me inside the room once again, slamming the door. He threw me into the wall making my head strike hard.
My head spun as soon as it hit the wall and my head felt dizzy. After overcoming the dizziness, my head started to throb out of pain.
I curled up on my knees, rubbing my paining head.
He approached me and gently removed my hands from my head. He then, slowly ran his fingers through my hair as if he was trying to heal my paining head.
"I told you already. Stop resisting." He let out a small painful voice and grabbed my waist with his right hand, his left hand still rubbing my paining head. You might like
Hands of Stone, Heart of Vengeance
Catlaina Sloggett My husband told me I was a bad investment, a legacy asset he was forced to liquidate after a car crash stole his memory of our love five years ago. He replaced me with a "Muse," a supermodel whose lies were as polished as the magazine covers she graced.
But when her son—the boy Adrian believed was his heir—suffered a sudden allergic reaction, she tearfully accused me of being a jealous chemist who mixed poison to harm an innocent child.
My husband, the man whose empire was built on the scents I created, didn't hesitate. In a blind rage, he declared that if my hands were used for evil, they shouldn't be used at all. He ordered his security team to bring quick-drying industrial cement.
"Since you can't control these hands, I will seal them forever," he commanded, his voice devoid of mercy.
He then had my hands encased in stone and had me displayed in the window of our flagship store, a public spectacle for the world to condemn.
As I stood there, the heavy weight crushing my fingers and my soul, I finally understood. My blind love and foolish hope had been my downfall. I had loved the wrong man, and he had utterly destroyed me.
But they made one fatal mistake. They didn't know about the hidden camera I’d planted in the nursery. And they had no idea that my family controlled the very flowers that kept his empire alive. The Twenty-Billion-Dollar Sacrifice
Guo Er I gave up my twenty-billion-dollar inheritance and cut ties with my family, all for my boyfriend of five years, Liam.
But just as I was about to tell him I was pregnant with our child, he dropped a bombshell.
He needed me to take the fall for his childhood sweetheart, Sophia. She'd been in a hit-and-run, and her acting career couldn't handle the scandal right before his company's IPO.
When I refused and told him about our baby, his face went cold. He told me to terminate the pregnancy immediately.
He didn't know the scars on my own back were from that same fire. He didn't know I was the one who pulled him out, not her.
He had his assistant schedule the appointment and sent me to the clinic alone. There, the nurse told me the procedure carried a high risk of permanent infertility.
He knew. And he still sent me.
I walked out of that clinic, choosing to keep my child. At that exact moment, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a glowing article announcing that Liam and Sophia were expecting their first child, complete with a photo of his hand resting protectively on her stomach.
My world shattered. Wiping away a tear, I found the number I hadn't called in five years.
"Dad," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I was wrong. I'm ready to come home." I Designed His Dream House, He Built a Secret Family
Xi Jin I was in a high-end mall, browsing a toy store for my friend's daughter's birthday, when my world tilted on its axis. Through the polished glass storefront, I saw him. My husband, Julian. He was in the café opposite, seated beside the sprawling indoor children's play area. He wasn't alone.
A woman, Seraphina Vance—a social media influencer whose perfectly curated life I’d occasionally scrolled past—was laughing, her head tilted just so. And between them, a little boy of about four, gleefully mashing a piece of cake into his own dark hair. Julian’s hair.
They looked like a family. A perfect, happy family.
An icy dread washed over me. I remembered Julian refusing to have a baby with me, citing the immense pressure of his work. All his business trips, the late nights… were they spent with them? I recalled a night six months ago when Noah had supposedly been sick. Julian had stayed out all night, his voice strained over the phone, telling me a "critical client had a medical emergency." The lie was so easy for him.
I must have stared too long. The little boy, Noah, noticed me. He picked up a toy water pistol from their table, aimed it directly at me through the café’s open front, and squeezed the trigger. A jet of cold water hit my silk skirt, leaving a dark, spreading stain.
Seraphina Vance turned, her eyes meeting mine. There was no surprise, only a flicker of amusement. She offered a saccharine smile. "Oh, dear. He's just playing with you," she cooed, her voice dripping with condescension.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I turned and walked away, my legs unsteady. I needed to leave, to breathe, to think. In the underground parking garage, I fumbled for my keys, my hands shaking. As I passed Julian’s sleek sedan, something on the passenger seat caught my eye. A heavy, cream-colored card with embossed lettering.
"You are joyfully invited to the Christening of Noah Thorne."
It was real. More real than a fleeting email. A physical invitation to a life I never knew existed. How could I have been so blind?
My phone felt heavy in my hand. I didn’t call my best friend. I didn’t call a lawyer. I called the director of the Zurich Architectural Fellowship, a prestigious program I had deferred for him, for us.
"I'd like to accept the fellowship," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I can leave immediately."