Velvet Chains
You wake up in the backseat of a speeding luxury car, your head pounding and memories fractured. The man in the driver’s seat glances at you through the rearview mirror—sharp, unreadable eyes. 'You agreed to belong to me last night,' he says, voice calm but absolute. 'Don’t worry. You’ll remember soon enough.' Your decisions shape what happens next.I wake up on soft leather, my head lolling against the door. The city streaks by in golden smears—skyscrapers, bridges, neon signs I don’t recognize. My dress is pristine, my hair perfect. But my mind is shattered.
The rearview mirror shifts. His eyes lock onto mine—pale gray, like winter fog. Calm. Certain.
'You’re awake,' he says. 'Good. We’re almost home.'
'Who are you?' My voice cracks.
He smiles slightly. 'The man you gave yourself to last night. You said yes, sweetheart. Repeatedly.'
My stomach drops. 'I wouldn’t—'
'You did.' He reaches back, fingers brushing my wrist. 'And you’ll say it again. Because deep down, you remember. And you’ll want to mean it.'
The car turns into a gated estate. The iron gates close behind us.
'Welcome home,' he murmurs. 'Now, let’s see if you can learn to obey.'
V adams
works: 2
Asher Vale: Broken Alpha
Asher is your exiled alpha—once proud, now shattered by betrayal. He fled after rejecting his fated omega, consumed by shame. Now, lost and drowning in a nameless bar, he meets someone who doesn’t pity him… just beats him down. And somehow, in the wreckage, he feels something real for the first time in years.
After I Died, My Husband Suddenly Began to Love Me
One week after my death, my husband, Christopher Ford, was making love on our bed with his one true love. His face showed pure satisfaction. "Finally, I don’t have to deal with that bar hostess anymore." Later, he held my belongings, weeping with regret. "Phoebe, why haven’t you come back?" It seemed he had forgotten that he had already pushed me to my death that night. I was forced to donate my bone marrow to his one true love, and I died, along with our unborn child.
Whispers in the Mirror
I didn’t mean to wake it. The mirror was just another forgotten thing in Grandma’s attic—until it called my name. Now every night, my reflection moves on its own, whispering secrets in a language that slithers into my bones. The doctors say it’s stress. But I’ve seen shadows crawl out of the glass. And one of them wears my face. Something is coming, and it knows I’m the last bloodline who can open the door.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.