Shearwater
1 Published Story
Shearwater's Book and Story
Seeking Revenge on My Evil Aunt
Short stories Aunt Paige couldn't stand that our family was doing better than hers. She schemed to take everything from us. I was accepted into a prestigious university, while her son Grayson didn't even meet the requirements for a community college.
On the day of my graduation party, a child in the village fell into the water. Aunt Paige pushed me into the water. "Jun Jun, you're a student at a prestigious university; you can't embarrass the school, go save that child!"
I struggled to lift the child, but I drowned instead. After my death, my grandfather and mother also passed away one after the other. Grayson, hailed as a hero, was accepted into a university. Aunt Paige took the relocation compensation for our family's 200-acre orchard. From being destitute, she became incredibly wealthy, the richest person in the village.
After being reborn, when I saw that child fall into the water again, before Aunt Paige could say anything, I kicked her into the water. You might like
The Billionaire Who Lost His Sun
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My fiancé, Salvatore Moretti, was supposed to be in Chicago on business. But he answered my frantic call from a ski slope in Aspen, with the sound of my best friend, Sofia, laughing in the background.
He told me not to worry, that my mother’s injury was just a scratch. But when I got to the hospital, I learned it was Sofia’s unvaccinated Doberman that had attacked my diabetic mother. I texted Sal that her kidneys were failing, that they might have to amputate.
His only reply: “Sofia is hysterical. She feels terrible. Calm her down for me, okay?”
Hours later, Sofia posted a photo of Sal kissing her on a ski lift. The next call I got was from the doctor, telling me my mother’s heart had stopped.
She died alone, while the man who swore to protect me was on a romantic vacation with the woman whose dog killed her. The rage inside me wasn't hot; it turned into a block of ice.
I didn't drive back to the penthouse he gave me. I went to my mother’s empty house and made a call I hadn't made in fifteen years. To my estranged father, a man whose name was a ghost story in Salvatore’s world: Don Matteo Costello.
“I’m coming home,” I told him.
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Across the room, I saw them together, his hand resting on her stomach. This wasn't just an affair; it was a public declaration that erased me and our unborn baby.
To protect his company's billion-dollar IPO, Gabe, his mother, and even my own adoptive parents conspired against me. They moved Harper into our home, into my bed, treating her like royalty while I became a prisoner.
They painted me as unstable, a threat to the family's image. They accused me of cheating and claimed my child wasn't his.
The final command was unthinkable: terminate my pregnancy. They locked me in a room and scheduled the procedure, promising to drag me there if I refused.
But they made a mistake. They gave me back my phone to keep me quiet. Feigning surrender, I made one last, desperate call to a number I had kept hidden for years-a number belonging to my biological father, Antony Dean, the head of a family so powerful, they could make my husband's world burn. The Alpha Pact: Love Enslaved, Love Unleashed
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When Rogues attacked our pack, a silver chandelier fell towards us. Kaelen lunged past me without a glance, shielding Seraphina with his own body while I was left to be crushed.
He never even looked back.
Later, after falsely accusing me of hurting her, he dragged my injured body to an ice-cold hydrotherapy pool and shoved me under the water.
As I struggled to breathe, he loomed over me, his voice a roar of command.
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Watching the man I loved try to kill me, the last of my hope finally turned to ash.
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He was shielding another woman—his ruthless business partner—from a downpour, letting his own thousand-dollar suit get soaked just to protect her. The headline flashed below them, calling their new alliance a "power move" that would reshape the city.
The guests at my gallery immediately began to whisper. Their pitying looks turned my greatest triumph into a public spectacle of humiliation. Then his text arrived, a cold, final confirmation of my place in his life: “Something came up. Isabella needed me. You understand. Business.”
For four years, I had been his possession. A quiet, artistic wife kept in a gilded cage on the top floor of his skyscraper. I poured all my loneliness and heartbreak onto my canvases, but he never truly saw my art. He never truly saw me. He just saw another one of his assets.
My heart didn't break that night. It turned to ice. He hadn't just neglected me; he had erased me.
So the next morning, I walked into his office and handed him a stack of gallery contracts.
He barely glanced up, annoyed at the interruption to his empire-building. He snatched the pen and signed on the line I’d marked.
He didn’t know the page tucked directly underneath was our divorce decree.
He had just signed away his wife like she was nothing more than an invoice for art supplies.