Superstition
13 Published Stories
Superstition's Books and Stories
Claimed By The Ruthless Missing Heir
Romance My father was marrying a gold-digger, the mother of my cheating ex-boyfriend.
To end the charade, I crashed their luxury wedding with a ten-foot funeral wreath.
In front of hundreds of elites, my father slapped me across the face, calling me a vicious bitch while his new wife smiled in victory.
I triggered the estate's fire system to ruin them, but a terrifying stranger in the VIP section bypassed my military-grade hack in seconds.
He was Kavon Velasquez, a dangerous billionaire heir who had been missing for twelve years.
Instead of exposing me, he shielded me from my father's second blow.
When my pathetic ex tried to drag me away, I grabbed Kavon and kissed him to humiliate my ex.
I shoved a $500,000 check into Kavon's pocket as hush money and left.
I thought that was the end of it.
But why did this apex predator move into the penthouse right next to mine at 2 AM?
Why did he violently crush my ex's face the next morning just for grabbing my arm?
"She is my woman. If you ever come within ten feet of her again, I will bury you."
I didn't understand why a man with lethal skills was suddenly hunting me.
Then I found out he had just blackmailed my father with undeniable proof of corporate money laundering.
His demand wasn't money. It was me.
He ordered my father to announce our engagement by tomorrow sunset, and this dangerous game officially began. Luna, the White Wolf, is reborn.
Werewolf I hid my identity as the Alpha King's daughter just to be Santino's perfectly submissive Luna.
I thought deep love would be enough. I was wrong.
Three years into our marriage, Santino brought a pregnant woman into our pack compound, and even gave my late mother's necklace to his mistress.
I tried to argue, to make him respect our marriage.
But he said, "Without my protection, you are nothing."
I played the harmless, weak Luna for so long that he actually thought I was a helpless Omega.
Santino wants a war? Then I will give him a war.
"Damian," my mind was made up as I awakened the Royal Guard, "destroy everything."
Santino could certainly start the fire. But when the war ends, only I can decide.
By the time he regrets it, it will be too late. 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. 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 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
Flash Marriage To My Best Friend's Father
Madel Cerda I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector.
That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world.
The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor.
The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist.
Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch-a titan of industry and my best friend's father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared.
"Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb.
Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen.
"Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back."
I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe. While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her
Katie Oettgen As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole.
I begged him for help, my vision blurring.
But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background.
"Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again."
He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm.
I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube.
Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry.
Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled.
"You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up."
He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research.
I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym.
They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive.
They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity.
I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding.
I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it.
Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house.
The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born. Flash Marriage To The Alpha Colonel
Mo Yufei I was an intern nurse working exhausting shifts, yet my mother constantly forced me into blind dates with wealthy, arrogant men to secure our family's social standing.
During a terrifying hospital lockdown, an assassin disguised as a doctor held a scalpel to my throat. I was almost killed, but a high-ranking military colonel threw his own body down a flight of concrete stairs to shield me.
I survived with cuts and bruises, but when I went home, my mother didn't care about my near-death experience. She was only furious that I had rushed out on my blind date with Preston, a rich financial analyst.
She forced me to meet him to apologize. When Preston grabbed my arm, bruised me, and mocked my attack as a pathetic lie, my mother still took his side.
"Men get angry," she told me coldly. "It's your job not to provoke them. You will beg for his forgiveness, or you are no longer welcome in this house."
I had narrowly escaped an assassin, yet my own family was willing to feed me to a monster just for a fat paycheck and neighborhood gossip.
My heart went completely dead.
So, when the intimidating Colonel appeared, offering me maximum military protection through a sudden marriage, I didn't hesitate.
I walked back into my parents' house and calmly slapped a crisp marriage certificate onto the coffee table.
"I won't be apologizing to Preston. I got married today." One Night With My Billionaire Boss
Nathaniel Stone I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn.
Beside me lay Ezra Gardner-my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers.
He didn't offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement.
"Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins."
He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend's apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I'd spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes.
I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn't understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe.
"Showtime, Mrs. Gardner."
Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend's face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn't just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down. Too Late, Mr. CEO: Watch Me Shine
Nieves Gómez Kayla stood outside the CEO suite, holding a custom suit for her fiancé, Brennon. They had spent seven years building a tech company from a freezing garage into a billion-dollar empire.
But through the cracked door, she heard the breathy laugh of Evelin, the newly hired director. Then came Brennon's low, careless voice.
"The wedding's a PR milestone for the IPO, nothing more."
Kayla's blood turned to ice.
"She's comfortable. Makes sense on paper," Brennon continued. "But you, Evelin. You understand ambition."
The betrayal hit her like a physical blow. She had written the core code that made him a billionaire. She had stayed up until 4 AM debugging while he slept on a futon. Now, he was mocking their relationship to his mistress and handing over her life's work to a woman who couldn't even read a data log.
Seven years of loyalty, reduced to a PR stunt. She didn't cry. Instead, a cold, violent clarity washed over her. Why should she let him keep the crown she forged?
Without a word, she pulled the three-carat diamond off her finger and dropped it into her bag. She walked out of the building, drafted her resignation, and accepted a VP position at his biggest Wall Street rival. It was time to show Brennon what happened when the real genius behind his empire decided to tear it down. Broken Ring, Billionaire Secrets: Watch Me Shine
Cornelia I sat on the edge of the examination table, the crinkle of the sanitary paper sounding like thunder in the sterile room. The doctor didn't even look at me as he confirmed the news: the pregnancy was over. My husband, Keyon, didn't answer my call. He just sent an automated text: "In a meeting."
When I returned to our cold mansion, I found his iPad glowing with a message from his "muse," Katina. He was throwing her a secret gala tonight-on our third wedding anniversary. He told her he couldn't wait to escape the "boring" and "draining" atmosphere I created at home.
Keyon didn't stumble in until 3 AM, smelling of Katina's perfume with a smear of red on his collar. When I handed him the divorce papers, he laughed in my face. He called me a "glorified housekeeper" with no skills and no future, promising I'd be back in three days begging for a subway ticket. He even bet his friends ten thousand dollars that I wouldn't survive a week without his name.
He had his assistant cancel my credit cards and block my gate access before I even reached the end of the driveway. He wanted me to starve. He wanted me to crawl. He sat in his office, mocking the "desperate" woman who pawned her three-million-dollar wedding ring for scrap metal just to pay for a meal.
I stood on the rainy curb, watching the man I had protected for three years treat my life like trash. He didn't know about the ultrasound I just threw in the bin. He didn't know that while he was calling me "dull," I was the one secretly writing the code that kept his billion-dollar empire from collapsing.
As I slid into a cheap Uber, I opened a hidden, encrypted app on my phone. The screen refreshed to a dashboard for an account Keyon didn't know existed. The balance was ten figures long-the accumulated wealth of "Solaris," the world's most elusive tech genius. Keyon thinks he just evicted a parasite, but he's about to find out he just declared war on the only person who can hit "delete" on his entire life. 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. The Betrayed Heiress And Her Genius Comeback
I. HAWKINS I skipped my final lab review in Geneva and endured a fourteen-hour flight to surprise my husband for our fourth wedding anniversary.
Instead, looking through the window of our beachfront estate, I saw him playing the perfect, loving father to a "tragic widow's" daughter, kissing the widow with practiced, casual intimacy.
Fleeing in pure panic, I got into a horrific car crash.
Waking up in the VIP hospital room, I kept my eyes shut and heard my husband talking to his best friend right beside my bed.
"She's just a party girl who knows how to swipe a black card. I only play the part because I need her father's proxy vote for the IPO."
"Every time I have to touch her in bed, it feels like a corporate obligation. It makes me sick."
Later, even my own father demanded I step down from my company role and publicly welcome the mistress, just to protect the family's investment in the upcoming ten-billion-dollar IPO.
Four years of marriage and quiet humiliations, all reduced to a calculated lie. They all thought I was just a brainless, hysterical socialite who could be easily manipulated and discarded.
They didn't know that the core anti-aging algorithm his entire empire relied on was secretly built by me.
I calmly pulled out my phone and texted my divorce lawyer.
"I want him bankrupt. On the day his company rings the bell, I am going to burn his entire life to the ground." 
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