Superstition
11 Published Stories
Superstition's Books and Stories
The Billionaire Who Lost His Sun
Romance I was arranging lilies for my engagement party when the hospital called. A dog bite, they said.
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.
My vendetta wouldn’t be one of blood. It would be one of erasure. I would dismantle my life here and disappear so completely, it would be as if I had never existed. His Debts, My Sweetest Victory
Modern On our eighth anniversary, I found my husband on a tropical beach with his junior employee. A photo on social media showed them with a diamond ring he' d bought with our company' s money, captioned: "Paradise found with my forever love."
But the moment he truly broke me was when I told him I was terminating the pregnancy and needed him there. He laughed.
"You think I'm going to play along with your pathetic games?" he sneered, before rushing off to comfort his mistress.
Later, in the hospital corridor, after I had gone through it all alone, he finally fell to his knees, crying and asking about "our baby." But it was too late. He and his mistress had already killed my child.
So I played the part of the grieving wife. While he begged for a second chance, I quietly transferred millions to my name, gathered every last piece of evidence of his affair, and served him the final divorce papers, leaving him with nothing but a mountain of debt. Our Love, Our Mutual Destruction
Modern I was dying of cancer when my destructive ex, Brooks Ferguson, returned to Seattle. The first thing he did was demolish my late father's record store.
But his new fiancée, Grace, delivered the final blow. With a vicious smile, she cornered me and poured my mother's ashes onto the filthy street.
I snapped. I rammed my vintage Mustang into her convertible-twice. I woke up in the hospital, coughing up blood, just in time to see Brooks on the news.
"When I find her," he snarled to the cameras, "I' m going to enjoy breaking every single bone in her body."
He had no idea the cancer, accelerated by his cruelty, was already killing me.
He wanted my body? Fine. I refused all treatment and arranged for the hospital to call him. My final revenge wasn't to fight him. It was to die and make him claim the corpse of the woman he destroyed. His Betrayal, My Second Chance At Life
Billionaires The bank manager looked at me, professional calm masking his judgment.
"I'm sorry, sir, the transaction has been declined."
I knew why. The primary card on my account, the unlimited Black Card my parents had given me, was being bled dry by the two people I trusted most.
It wasn' t just the extravagant five-thousand-dollar handbags or the lavish weekend getaways. It was the crushing betrayal when I overheard them in Sarah' s apartment, my girlfriend laughing as my best friend, Mike, mocked my naivety.
"Liam is so boring. So naive. He just hands over his money like an idiot," Sarah giggled.
"He is an idiot," Mike' s voice oozed contempt. "But a useful one. As long as he keeps paying, you and I can have anything we want."
My world shattered. I stumbled away, heart pounding, the bitter taste of their deceit overwhelming me.
Two days later, at our usual campus coffee shop, I confronted them. Sarah' s face twisted in fury, Mike' s feigned concern turning to a calculated smear campaign. They gaslit me, painting me as the crazy, jealous boyfriend, publicly humiliating me until I ran.
That night, Mike lured me to a cliffside lookout. He pushed me. I remembered the sickening crunch of rocks as I fell, seen his empty eyes as he drove away. The police called it suicide.
But I wasn't dead. I was back. Waking up in my own bed, three weeks before my murder.
This time, the ending would be different. This time, I was in control. When The Tesla Called
Romance The automated call from the Tesla came at 10 PM, shattering the illusion of my perfect life with Ryan.
"A collision has been detected. The registered owner, Ryan Scott, may be unresponsive."
I rushed to the ER, dread gripping my heart, only to find him on a gurney, pale and sweaty.
But he wasn't alone; Sylvia, his brother's widow, was clutching his hand, looking disheveled and frantic.
Then, my childhood friend, Dr. Andrew Lester, delivered the chilling truth: "There was no collision. Mr. Scott experienced... an acute allergic reaction. Anaphylaxis."
A severe latex allergy, exacerbated by "strenuous physical activity."
The words hung in the air, heavy and obscene; the pieces clicked into place with sickening finality.
It wasn't a car crash.
It was sex.
In his car.
For seven years, I had downplayed my family's wealth, my education, my ambitions, all to prop up the myth of the "self-made" Ryan Scott.
For this?
His blatant lies the next morning, about "bad shellfish" and needing me to pick up his impounded Tesla, were a cruel joke.
The car reeked of stale champagne and cheap perfume, brazenly displaying a high-heeled shoe and a torn silk blouse; his contempt for me was physically manifested.
But their sick game was about to change.
When Andrew, my childhood friend, quietly appeared at the impound lot, I made my decision.
"The marriage. With your family. I told my father yes."
My path was set: cold, clear, and utterly decisive. The Sentence That Killed Them All
Horror My younger brother, Jayden, was perfect. Until the day we found him on the lawn, a serene smile on his face, after he jumped from our roof. My world shattered.
Then, the true horror began. My grandpa, followed by my dad, then my mom – all took their own lives, one by one. The only link? A single, mysterious sentence whispered by my dying mother, a secret from Jayden' s suicide note that tormented them beyond reason.
Our house became a tomb, my life a waking nightmare of unanswered questions and profound grief. Why would they choose to die? What cryptic words could compel such an unthinkable end for an entire family? The police were baffled, the town whispered.
I was left alone, haunted by the enigma consuming my loved ones. But as I unearthed my mother's hidden journal, the truth unraveled, revealing a cosmic twist of fate so cruel, so devastating, it transcended mere tragedy. It was a sin, a terrifying cycle of revenge, betrayal, and a secret that would make anyone question reality.
Now, with the full, horrifying truth laid bare, my path is clear: I will make the monster responsible for this unbearable suffering pay, ensuring his torment far exceeds the peaceful deaths my family chose. His Twisted Mercy
Modern They dragged me from the wild mountains after twenty years, back to the cruel polished world of the Winstons, where my only solace was Fang, my beloved coyote.
On my wedding night, I thought I had found salvation with Ethan, my fiancé, but then I overheard his cold, horrifying plan: Fang, my last link to home, was to be brutally killed and his organs harvested for my sister, Chloe.
The next morning, Ethan feigned grief, but I saw the truth in his eyes, and later, the sickening proof: Chloe, vibrant and healthy, parading in a custom coat made from Fang' s precious fur.
How could the man I loved, my supposed savior, conspire in such a monstrous betrayal, reducing my wild companion to a mere commodity, a cruel trophy?
Fueled by an ancient, consuming rage, a primal instinct for vengeance ignited within me, and I knew I would never be caged again. The Coma King's Secret Bride
Billionaires My little brother, Leo, was dying, dependent on a miracle surgery our family couldn't afford.
My only hope was my five-year relationship with Ethan Vanderbilt, the wealthy heir - a relationship I' d clung to despite his growing cruelty.
Then, he called me to his penthouse, not for reconciliation, but to introduce Isabella Romano, his new, stunning fiancée.
"You were always a bit... much, Mia," he sneered, discarding me for an "upgrade."
Public humiliation followed, as society pages lauded their perfect match, branding me the desperate ex.
My own father, desperate for Leo' s life, told me I should have "tried harder."
Our last hope seemed to vanish.
Just when I thought I was at rock bottom, Ethan' s ruthless uncle, Charles Vanderbilt, offered a bizarre lifeline: full funding for Leo' s surgery.
The catch? I had to go to a remote Vermont clinic and act as a discreet observer for his "comatose" brother-in-law, Marcus Thorne.
Spy on a dying man for the family who' d just ruined me? Why me? What dark secrets was I being forced into?
It felt like a devil' s bargain, a humiliation worse than anything Ethan could inflict, and I couldn't ignore the chilling sense of injustice.
But for Leo, I' d do anything.
So I packed my bags, leaving everything behind for that bleak, uncertain future in Vermont.
I expected silent days watching a still form, but the "comatose" Marcus Thorne wasn't so comatose after all.
And the very first thing he said to me wasn't 'hello,' but, "As I recall, Mia Hayes, you were my first kiss." His Hidden Heir: The CEO They Cast Aside
Billionaires I was Ava Miller, a former foster kid desperate for a fresh start.
My new job as companion to the intimidating Mrs. Eleanor Davenport seemed like my escape.
But Eleanor had a hidden agenda: she wanted me to 'manage' her powerful grandson, Ethan.
Desperate for the promised money, I followed her subtle instructions, which shockingly escalated one night.
Pressured to 'help him unwind,' I used a sleeping powder, leading to an encounter I never anticipated, a desperate, morally compromising act.
I soon discovered I was pregnant.
Eleanor swiftly paid me off, telling me my 'services were no longer required' before Ethan's arranged engagement.
I was discarded, used, and heartbroken, forced to flee and struggle raising my son, Leo, alone, far from their opulent world.
How could they manipulate me like that?
The shame burned, but so did a fierce determination.
I vowed Leo and I would never be discarded again.
Years later, just as I' d built a peaceful life, fate delivered a stunning twist.
I was Ava Sterling, the lost heir to a tech billionaire, now CEO of a global empire, finally independent.
But then, Ethan Davenport walked back into my life, his eyes widening as they landed on Leo.
He saw his own face in my son and demanded answers.
This time, I wouldn't be silent. I would unveil the brutal truth, fight for my son, and for myself. From Burger Barn to Billionaire's Trap
Young Adult I was just Emily Miller, stuck in a Rust Belt town, working at Burger Barn, with only my Ivy League dreams and a worn-out textbook to escape my indifferent foster parents. My entire future depended on a scholarship.
Then, the unthinkable happened. The Waltons—the billionaire supermarket magnates—appeared. They claimed I was their long-lost daughter, genetic proof in hand, complete with a dazzling lifestyle upgrade and a campus heartthrob fiancé, Blake. It should have been a dream come true.
But as they spun their heartwarming tale, shimmering, intrusive messages popped up, visible only to me: `>> LOL, the crocodile tears are Emmy-worthy, Marian. #FakeFamily`. These chilling "reality comment subtitles" revealed a sinister truth: the Waltons, including my "fiancé" Blake, were orchestrating an elaborate psychological "kill with kindness" plot. Their real daughter, Jessica, my academic rival, was threatened by my success, and they’d paid off my foster parents to neutralize me.
What they offered wasn't a second chance; it was a gilded cage designed to crush my ambition and ensure Jessica's ascent. Every "generous" offer, every "loving" gesture, was a meticulously placed trap, aiming to turn me into a mindless socialite. The comments were my brutal, cynical guide, exposing the true intentions behind their saccharine smiles.
Naive? Not anymore. I took a deep breath. If they wanted to play a game, I’d play along – right up to the moment I turned their own resources against them. I’d use their money for the most expensive SAT prep, feign airheadedness, and transform Blake into my unwitting assistant, all while planning my ultimate, public triumph that would expose their vile scheme to the world. You might like
After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash
Sea Jet Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world.
In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief."
But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius.
Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be. He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him
SHANA GRAY The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her.
Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead.
A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living.
Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body.
Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back. His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love
Elroy Notman Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun.
Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos.
As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage.
The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice.
Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her. HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)
Viviene Trigger/Content Warning:
This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised.
It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language.
This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire.
*****
"Take off your dress, Meadow."
"Why?"
"Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost."
••••*••••*••••*
Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance.
One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring.
Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel.
He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch.
Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed.
She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge.
But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming.
Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything.
Alaric doesn't share what's his.
Not his company.
Not his wife.
And definitely not his vengeance.
My Husband's Blindness, My Sweet Revenge
Winnie Suchoff The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand.
Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn.
She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back. Burned By Him, Reborn A Star
Rabbit The acrid smell of smoke still clung to Evelyn in the ambulance, her lungs raw from the penthouse fire. She was alive, but the world around her felt utterly destroyed, a feeling deepened by the small TV flickering to life. On it, her husband, Julian Vance, thousands of miles away, publicly comforted his mistress, Serena Holloway, shielding her from paparazzi after *her* "panic attack."
Julian's phone went straight to voicemail. Alone in the hospital with second-degree burns, Evelyn watched news replays, her heart rate spiking. He protected Serena from camera flashes while Evelyn burned. When he finally called, he demanded she handle insurance, dismissing the fire; Serena's voice faintly heard.
The shallow family ties and pretense of marriage evaporated. A searing injustice and cold anger replaced pain; Evelyn knew Julian had chosen to let her burn.
"Evelyn Vance died in that fire," she declared, ripping out her IV. Armed with a secret fortune as "The Architect," Hollywood's top ghostwriter, she walked out. She would divorce Julian, reclaim her name, and finally step into the spotlight as an actress. I Signed the Divorce, He Lost Everything
Rabbit My wealthy husband, Nathaniel, stormed in, demanding a divorce to be with his "dying" first love, Julia. He expected tears, pleas, even hysteria. Instead, I calmly reached for a pen, ready to sign away our life for a fortune.
For two years, I played the devoted wife in our sterile penthouse. That night, Nathaniel shattered the facade, tossing divorce papers. "Julia's back," he stated, "she needs me."
He expected me to crumble. But my calm "Okay" shocked him. I coolly demanded his penthouse, shares, and a doubled stipend, letting him believe I was a greedy gold digger. He watched, disgusted, convinced I was a monster.
He couldn't fathom my indifference or ruthless demands. He saw avarice, not a carefully constructed facade. His betrayal had awakened something far more dangerous.
The second the door closed, the dutiful wife vanished. I retrieved a burner phone and a Glock, ready to expose the elaborate lie he and Julia had built.