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Whispers from Room 7

Whispers from Room 7

Gavin

5.0
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11
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Two years. My spirit has been tethered to the rotting wood and peeling paint of the Starlight Motel. They told everyone I died here-a self-inflicted wound, the 'problem child' finally snapping. All I felt was a hollow ache, a desperate longing for them to finally see me, to see the truth. Then, a chilling shift. My parents, Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, their voices tight with feigned distress, and my 'perfect' brother Mark, his tone smooth with false concern, were making plans. They'd invited Leo Maxwell, the host of "Legend Trippers," a ghost hunter, to the Starlight. Their aim: to livestream "proof" that I'm a malevolent, vengeful spirit haunting them. The livestream started, and I watched, helpless, as Mark orchestrated his performance. He painted me as a drug-addled, violent monster, choking back fake sobs as he claimed I "turned the weapon on myself." Leo found "evidence"-a rusty hunting knife and a photo with a chilling message in "my handwriting," clearly planted. The online comments flooded with sympathy for my 'poor' family, condemning me. My spirit burned with a silent, furious injustice. I wanted to scream, to expose the lies piling up, a suffocating wall I couldn't push through. They wanted to paint me as a monster, again, and I was voiceless. If only they knew what really happened that night. If only they knew who the real monster was. But then, away from the staged theatrics, Leo's curiosity led him to a dusty old Wurlitzer jukebox in the forgotten diner. Inside, nestled among the wires, he discovered a small, battery-operated cassette recorder. He pressed play, and from the static, my voice, my real voice, hesitantly began to speak.

Introduction

Two years. My spirit has been tethered to the rotting wood and peeling paint of the Starlight Motel. They told everyone I died here-a self-inflicted wound, the 'problem child' finally snapping. All I felt was a hollow ache, a desperate longing for them to finally see me, to see the truth.

Then, a chilling shift. My parents, Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, their voices tight with feigned distress, and my 'perfect' brother Mark, his tone smooth with false concern, were making plans. They'd invited Leo Maxwell, the host of "Legend Trippers," a ghost hunter, to the Starlight. Their aim: to livestream "proof" that I'm a malevolent, vengeful spirit haunting them.

The livestream started, and I watched, helpless, as Mark orchestrated his performance. He painted me as a drug-addled, violent monster, choking back fake sobs as he claimed I "turned the weapon on myself." Leo found "evidence"-a rusty hunting knife and a photo with a chilling message in "my handwriting," clearly planted. The online comments flooded with sympathy for my 'poor' family, condemning me.

My spirit burned with a silent, furious injustice. I wanted to scream, to expose the lies piling up, a suffocating wall I couldn't push through. They wanted to paint me as a monster, again, and I was voiceless. If only they knew what really happened that night. If only they knew who the real monster was.

But then, away from the staged theatrics, Leo's curiosity led him to a dusty old Wurlitzer jukebox in the forgotten diner. Inside, nestled among the wires, he discovered a small, battery-operated cassette recorder. He pressed play, and from the static, my voice, my real voice, hesitantly began to speak.

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The Baby Is Gone: No 'Us'

The Baby Is Gone: No 'Us'

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Sarah Miller, a brilliant software engineer, poured her genius and every last penny into rebuilding her disgraced tech mogul boyfriend, Ethan Knight. She sacrificed everything, even her own health enduring a miscarriage, to help him rise from the ashes and build a billion-dollar empire. But success revealed Ethan's true monstrous nature. He brought his heavily pregnant ex-girlfriend, Jessica, home, ordering Sarah to serve her. With his venomous mother, Eleanor, they turned Sarah' s life into a nightmare of relentless humiliation. The ultimate public degradation came at a charity gala when Ethan, in front of their wealthy peers, ordered Sarah to kneel and polish Jessica' s shoes with a cocktail napkin. Days later, Sarah discovered she was pregnant with Ethan's child, a secret flicker of hope. But his cruelty knew no bounds; after physically assaulting her, he locked her in a freezing garage on a bitter winter' s night. When she desperately revealed her pregnancy, he sneered, dismissing it as "manipulation." Abandoned and freezing, a chilling clarity settled over Sarah. The man she loved was gone, replaced by a monster more concerned with another woman's "important" pregnancy. In that dark, cold garage, she made the most agonizing, yet utterly resolute, decision of her life. When Jessica's lies finally unraveled, and a desperate Ethan, clutching Sarah's positive pregnancy test, begged for reconciliation, Sarah calmly shattered his world. "The baby is gone, Ethan," she whispered, "I had an abortion this morning. There is no 'us'." With that, she walked away, leaving him utterly ruined, her own path to healing finally begun.

My Money, His Mistress

My Money, His Mistress

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For five years, I lived as Sarah Miller, the unassuming wife of a rising tech executive. I meticulously hid my true identity as Sarah Sterling, heiress to a vast fortune, believing my quiet support was building my husband Ethan's dreams. But that carefully constructed facade shattered at a school fair. Instead of Ethan, engrossed in a "critical product demo," I found him openly laughing with his colleague, Chloe, her son perched on his shoulders, a perfect family portrait. The text "Saw you. Don't make a scene" burned my eyes as he publicly humiliated me, even tripping me. Later, when our innocent daughter Lily approached him, he coldly asked, "Whose kid is this?" The humiliation deepened when Chloe, smirking, implied Ethan was hers, and he prioritized her son over Lily. I soon discovered his "hard-earned" success was funding Chloe's lavish lifestyle, not ours. Days later, as Lily fought a severe asthma attack, Ethan, ignoring her labored breathing and hearing Chloe's laugh, dismissed my desperate plea for help as "dramatic." My world, a carefully constructed illusion, crumbled, replaced by a cold, burning rage. Years of "late nights" and "urgent work trips" weren' t ambition; they were a double life, built entirely on my blind trust and, ironically, my family' s secret funds. This wasn't just an affair; it was an elaborate deception, a meticulously orchestrated project of my own foolishness. The custom-made dollhouse I' d ordered for Lily' s birthday, now casually claimed by Ethan for Chloe's son, was the ultimate betrayal. But the Sterling heiress, buried for five years, was about to resurface. The quiet, unassuming Sarah Miller died that day. Now, as Sarah Sterling, I would reclaim my power, dismantle my husband's fraudulent empire, and show him the true cost of his betrayal.

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