jenniferrawlings401
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jenniferrawlings401's Book and Story
The Billionaire's Blood Proxy
Sci-fi One million dollars for one hundred days.
For Elena, a street-smart girl facing a mountain of debt, the offer from the mysterious Vance empire sounds like a miracle. The job is simple: use a high-tech "neural sync" to impersonate Lira, the beloved sister of tech-tycoon Alexander Vance, for a series of high-profile events.
But as the contract progresses, the "handshake" between their minds turns into a stranglehold. Elena begins to see memories that aren't hers. She feels a hunger for power that belongs to a dead woman.
When the synchronization hits a lethal 99%, the terrifying truth emerges: Elena wasn't hired to be a mimic. She was brought to be a biological host.
With a ghost clawing for control of her brain and a cold, brooding corporate assassin, Alexander, watching her every move, Elena must navigate a web of digital hauntings and billionaire secrets. From the neon streets of London to a high-stakes explosion in Malta, she has one goal:
Delete the ghost before the ghost deletes her. You might like
Reborn And Remade: The Mind Reading Queen
Yixi Yuhuan In my past life, my family's bankruptcy destroyed everything, and I ended up dying on a cold metal table as a test subject for the Chimera Project.
It all started when my father's company was framed for a magical artifact leak, forcing him to pay a ruinous compensation.
When we begged for help, his own brothers came to our house. But they didn't come to save us.
"Sign the deed to the ancestral home over to me, or you can all starve in the streets," my uncle sneered, picking our bones clean.
At the magical academy, I became a bankrupt charity case. Elite girls like Vanessa Sterling framed me for stealing her dragon-hide wallet, turning me into a pariah.
"A lowly Human like you doesn't belong here," she mocked, as everyone watched me get humiliated.
My parents died in absolute despair, and I was sold off to a dark laboratory, my wrist branded with a jagged, ugly scar.
Until the moment the searing agony tore through my nerves, I couldn't accept it.
Why did my own blood relatives push my father to suicide?
Why did the magical elites get to trample us into the dirt without consequence?
Then, the white-hot pain suddenly vanished.
I gasped and opened my eyes, finding myself sitting in a bright classroom, ten years in the past.
The ugly scar on my wrist was gone, and a strange new ability was awakening in my mind.
I could hear their thoughts.
This time, I was going to rewrite my fate and make them all pay. Their Perfect Girl, My Perfect Revenge
Janna Lemay I was barely surviving, cleaning sticky tables at the diner, praying my scholarship exam would be my ticket out of this dead-end town and away from my foster mom Maria' s mounting medical bills.
Then, they walked in: the Parkers, my biological parents, followed by a girl my age who was sickeningly sweet, Ashley.
They said they'd been looking for me, but that saccharine smile on Ashley's face was a lie.
Suddenly, glowing text appeared in mid-air, a live stream comment: "[Ashley is so kind! Good thing she has the 'Luck-Siphon System' bound to the villain, or we wouldn' t have our perfect girl.]"
My blood ran cold when another comment flashed, this one a chilling red: "[The foster mom is so tragic. Her eventual death in a house fire is an 'unfortunate accident' that the villain (Hailey) shouldn't blame Ashley for.]"
Villain? House fire? My kind, hardworking Maria, just collateral damage in some twisted plot?
This perfect girl, my "sister," was stealing my future, my talents, even my mother' s life, all for her own twisted glory.
I was the villain in her story, the one destined to be stripped bare and then discarded.
But if they wanted a villain, I would give them one far worse than they could ever imagine.
I would move into their pristine mansion, get close to Ashley, and take back every single thing she had stolen from me.
I decided right then: Hailey, the hardworking student, was gone.
Now, only the villain remained, ready to dismantle their perfect world, piece by horrifying piece. Rising From Ashes: The Betrayed Queen Returns
My Sweet Super Wife I woke up strapped to a freezing operating table, a gaping hole crudely sutured over my heart.
Joi Rocha, my supposed guardian, stood nearby holding a glowing vial that contained my freshly extracted Phoenix gene sequence.
"Don't blame me, sweetheart. Gayla's body is just too weak. She needs this sequence more than you do."
In my past life, I endured years of illegal biological harvests for this family. My fiancé Brennon watched with cold eyes as they ripped the gene from my chest, while the elite academy students filmed and mocked my bleeding, broken body. They stripped me of my status, drained every drop of my worth, and left me to die in a freezing tomb just so their precious fake daughter could thrive.
Until my dying breath, I didn't understand. I had given them my absolute loyalty, so why was I treated like disposable medical waste? Why did my life mean absolutely nothing to them?
But opening my eyes again, I realized I had returned to the exact day they stole my core.
This time, I didn't cry or beg. I stared dead into Joi's eyes and smiled.
I detonated the residual energy in my chest to incinerate Gayla's stolen sequence, faked my own flatline, and injected myself with a hidden dark matter drive to completely rewrite my DNA.
If they wanted to play God with my life, I was going to burn their entire world to ash. The Galaxii Series Omnibus 1
Christina Engela Just think about it.
As frontiers go, this is probably the most final of them all, not because it may be the last
frontier, but because as long as we try to cross it and explore it, we take it with us. No
matter how far we go, the frontier will always be just that much ahead of us, tantalizing our
curiosities. Thus, we can never really cross it in so far as just push it back a little.
The universe is so vast, so immense, we can never expect to explore it all. It is in effect,
not so much a final frontier as an ultimate frontier; the ultimate frontier – as wide as it
is deep. Stars shine coldly in the unimaginable blackness. Out of the darkness, a tiny speck
caught the distant light of stars – a tiny gray speck that, as it moved, seemed to grow
larger, catching the light just so until it revealed itself to be a ship.
Mykl d’Angelo groaned where he sat slumped in his chair. The irritating noise was unsettling
his pet dog lying on his lap. The wickerwork garden chair creaked pleasantly under him and
some native Earth birds made pleasant sounds above while the cool wind wafted over him as he
lazily …
Wait-a-minute! His Twisted Game, Her Rebirth
Luo Chengfeng The fluorescent hum of the deserted office was my constant companion, a symphony to my late-night grind as an architect, building dreams one blueprint at a time.
Then, out of nowhere, text shimmered in the air, a chilling heads-up display only I could see: "[Target acquired: The Architect. She' s working late again. Perfect.]"
My blood ran cold as more lines appeared, taunting me with plans for a "Chivalry Challenge" at a $5,700 prize.
It finally clicked-Mark Johnson, that slimy social media influencer who' d turn women' s fear into profit, had found me.
He came, smooth as ever, with a drugged coffee, mocking me while I fought through a fogged mind, my desperate calls for help swallowed by his practiced lies to the security guard.
My brothers came back for me, their faces illuminated by flashing lights, my last-ditch effort to crash his car paying off just as I succumbed to the drug.
But the nightmare wasn' t over; Mark walked free, his lawyer spinning tales of my "manic episodes," leaving my brother Chris to face assault charges for defending me.
The injustice burned, fueling a rage that cleared the haze: he wouldn't win, not if I could help it.
"This isn't over," I declared, my voice steady, eyes fixed on my brothers, ready to dismantle his empire.
Then Michael sent me the link-Mark' s new video, painting me as the aggressor, a "crazy" woman.
Scrolling through the venomous comments, one caught my eye: "DesignDiva88," my colleague Lisa Chen, claiming she' d told him to "back off."
She was complicit, a willing accessory, and with that, I knew exactly how to begin. Love's Betrayal, A Mother's Vow
Xiao Youzi Ava stepped off the jet, eager to finally hug her daughter, Lily, after eighteen months away on a critical mission.
A familiar face, her handler, handed her a tablet, saying, "Welcome home, Ava. Everything is ready for your debriefing tomorrow. Tonight is yours."
Her eyes immediately landed on a headline: "Tech Prodigy Lily Thorne Exposed as Fraud, Groundbreaking AI Code Auctioned Off by Estranged Husband Mark Vance."
And then the photo. Lily, bound to a chair on a brightly lit stage, her face pale, a mixture of shock and utter devastation.
Her estranged son-in-law, Mark Vance, stood beside a woman Ava didn' t recognize-his new fiancée, Chloe.
He was sneering into the camera, declaring Lily would be finished, blacklisted, her future one of "menial jobs and constant public humiliation."
The tablet shattered in Ava' s hand, cracks spiderwebbing across the screen.
Her blood ran cold. The rage was a physical force, shimmering in the air around her.
How could he do this? How could a man she once trusted betray her daughter so completely, so publicly?
This wasn't just a betrayal; it was an execution.
"The mission isn' t over," Ava declared, her voice unnaturally calm, her gaze fixed on something far beyond the horrified handler. "It just began." The Butcher's Heart, A Boy's Hope
Qing Cheng The acrid smell of disinfectant and old wax assaulted my seventy-year-old nose.
One moment, I was Butcher Betty, cleaver in hand, surrounded by the familiar scent of my shop.
The next, I was a stranger in a sterile, enormous kitchen, wearing a stiff uniform, feather duster in my hand.
Then, a cold, mechanical voice boomed directly inside my head: "Transmigration successful. Welcome, Host 734."
My new identity: Betty, the cruel and sycophantic housekeeper of the Anderson family, tasked with following a novel' s plot.
My first directive: lock eight-year-old Liam, the biological son, in the dark, damp basement without dinner to solidify my loyalty to the adopted son, Kevin.
I looked at the small, terrified boy cowering in the corner, his eyes wide with a wariness that shouldn' t be in a child.
This wasn' t a character. This was a scared, hungry kid.
The system blared warnings, demanding I adhere to the script, that I become the villain.
But I was a butcher. I fed people. I didn't starve them.
"The plot can go to hell," I muttered, grabbing a saucepan. "This boy is getting a hot meal." 
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