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My Grave, His Madness

My Grave, His Madness

Gavin

5.0
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11
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My funeral was just weeks ago, but as a ghost, I, Elara, the Governor's wife, was forced to watch the wake from the corner of my own grand ballroom. My husband, Governor Marcus Thorne, a man whose entire career was built on my family's name and money, wasn't grieving; he was seething, convinced I had faked my death. He believed I was hiding somewhere in our sprawling estate, playing a cruel game to deny his trusted chief of staff, Izzy, a life-saving bone marrow transplant. But Izzy, a woman I had once taken under my wing, was lying. Her supposed illness was a meticulously orchestrated ruse designed to deceive Marcus, fueling his obsession to find me. As an invisible spirit, I agonizingly witnessed Marcus' s escalating madness: he systematically destroyed my family' s legacy, fired loyal staff, and brutally tormented my ten-year-old brother, Leo, all to force me out of a hiding place that didn't exist. His depravity culminated in the desecration of my grave, only for my true, decomposing body to be dismissed by his paid medical examiner as a "random corpse." How could my brilliant, ambitious husband be so utterly blind, a puppet in a macabre performance designed to destroy everything I held dear? What sinister motive drove Izzy to such extreme lengths, and why was I, even in death, still the target of this malicious charade? It wasn't until Leo, with a final, heartbreaking act of defiance, revealed the unique surgical pin embedded in my desecrated remains that Marcus's world shattered, finally exposing the horrifying truth of his own monstrous actions and setting the stage for Izzy' s chilling, triumphant reveal of her decades-long revenge and the complete collapse of his empire.

Introduction

My funeral was just weeks ago, but as a ghost, I, Elara, the Governor's wife, was forced to watch the wake from the corner of my own grand ballroom.

My husband, Governor Marcus Thorne, a man whose entire career was built on my family's name and money, wasn't grieving; he was seething, convinced I had faked my death.

He believed I was hiding somewhere in our sprawling estate, playing a cruel game to deny his trusted chief of staff, Izzy, a life-saving bone marrow transplant.

But Izzy, a woman I had once taken under my wing, was lying.

Her supposed illness was a meticulously orchestrated ruse designed to deceive Marcus, fueling his obsession to find me.

As an invisible spirit, I agonizingly witnessed Marcus' s escalating madness: he systematically destroyed my family' s legacy, fired loyal staff, and brutally tormented my ten-year-old brother, Leo, all to force me out of a hiding place that didn't exist.

His depravity culminated in the desecration of my grave, only for my true, decomposing body to be dismissed by his paid medical examiner as a "random corpse."

How could my brilliant, ambitious husband be so utterly blind, a puppet in a macabre performance designed to destroy everything I held dear?

What sinister motive drove Izzy to such extreme lengths, and why was I, even in death, still the target of this malicious charade?

It wasn't until Leo, with a final, heartbreaking act of defiance, revealed the unique surgical pin embedded in my desecrated remains that Marcus's world shattered, finally exposing the horrifying truth of his own monstrous actions and setting the stage for Izzy' s chilling, triumphant reveal of her decades-long revenge and the complete collapse of his empire.

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The 21st Birthday Loop

The 21st Birthday Loop

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For sixteen years, I was a phantom in the Miller house, my entire existence centered on raising Caleb. My destiny was sealed: on his 21st birthday, I was to become his wife, a debt my family couldn't pay. In my first agonizing life, that wedding day led to a decade of imprisonment in their dark basement, then a horrific sale to the depraved Scrap Yard Joe, who brutally murdered me and my two young daughters. But then, a miracle: I jolted awake, it was Caleb' s 21st birthday party again. I was back. This time, I vowed to escape, coldly telling Caleb the "deal was off." His fury, fueled by his new girlfriend Chloe, erupted. They dragged me to their root cellar, where Chloe actively tried to crush me with cinder blocks. Escaping a terrifying encounter with Scrap Yard Joe, Chloe's eerie accomplice from my past, I returned to the party only to be publicly framed. A panicked confrontation led to the tragic, accidental death of Caleb' s mother-a death later revealed to be orchestrated by Chloe' s slow poison. I was beaten, battered, and finally, locked in the basement again as Chloe set it on fire, intending to burn me alive. Lying amidst the flames, every fiber of my being screamed. Why had my attempt at freedom only resulted in such a brutal, fiery trap? Was this wretched family, and the ghosts of my past, truly inescapable? Yet, fate had a cruel twist. I miraculously survived, forcing Caleb to believe me dead, consumed by guilt. He began a meticulous, horrifying revenge on Chloe, mirroring the torment I endured. Then, in the climax of his depravity, just as he raised a hunting knife over Chloe' s pregnant belly, a scarred, living ghost walked into the room: Me. And his world shattered.

My Ruthless Uncle's Justice

My Ruthless Uncle's Justice

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My alarm buzzed, a cheerful tune that mocked the dread in my stomach. Today was the day: our family road trip to Vegas. Last time, it was the day I died. I remembered the screech of tires, shrill against hot asphalt. The sickening crunch of metal, the world swirling upside down. Then, the suffocating smell of gasoline, my own blood. Frank – my father – had orchestrated it all. He'd meticulously sabotaged our car, intent on murdering my mother and me for our organs. His mistress, Jessica, had a dying son, Leo, and we were merely unwilling donors for their twisted scheme. I gasped, shooting bolt upright in my cramped suburban bedroom. The morning sun streamed through the cheap floral wallpaper, a cruel contrast to the grim reality that had just resurfaced. The gruesome memory of my death, brutally betrayed by my own flesh and blood, washed over me like a tidal wave of ice and raw panic. My blood ran cold. This wasn't a nightmare; it was today. The same day he planned to carve me up for parts. How could a father, the sworn protector, conceive such a monstrous act for another woman' s child? The sheer injustice, the chilling horror of it, was unbearable, turning my stomach. But then, the nausea receded, replaced by something cold, hard, and sharp: pure, unyielding rage. I wasn't that naive 19-year-old anymore. I was a ghost with a score to settle. This time, there would be no crash. No organs harvested. This time, they would be the ones to feel pain.

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Billionaire's Regret, Too Late!

Billionaire's Regret, Too Late!

Ela Osaretin
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"Lucien, let's get a divorce," I said in a peremptory tone that was long overdue, the most decisive farewell to this absurd marriage. We had been married for exactly three years-three years that, for me, were filled with nothing but endless loneliness and torment. For three years, the husband who should have stood by my side through every storm, Lucien Sullivan, had completely disappeared from my life as if he had never existed. He vanished without a trace, leaving me alone to endure this empty, desolate marriage. Today, I finally received his message: "I'm back. Come pick me up at the airport." When I read his words, my heart leapt with joy, and I raced to the airport, thinking that he finally understood my love and was coming back to me. But his cruelty was far worse than I could have ever imagined-he was accompanied by a pregnant woman, and that woman was Carla, my closest and most trusted friend. In that moment, all of my previous excitement, all my hope, and all of our shared laughter and tears turned into the sharpest of daggers, stabbing into my heart and leaving me gasping for air. Now, all I want is to escape from this place that has left me so broken-to lick my wounds in solitude. Even if these wounds will remain with me for the rest of my life, I refuse to have anything to do with him ever again. He should know that it was his own hand that trampled our love underfoot, that his coldness and betrayal created this irreparable situation. But when he heard those words, he desperately clung to this broken, crumbling marriage, unwilling to let it end-almost as though doing so could rewind time and return everything to how it used to be. "Aurora, come back. I regret everything!" Regret? Those simple words stirred no emotion in me-only endless sadness and fury. My heart let out a frantic, desperate scream: It's too late for any of this!

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