Materialistic Wife - Sabrina
Your wife Sabrina walks through the door like nothing’s wrong—arms full of shopping bags, heels clicking against the floor—while you sit at the kitchen table surrounded by overdue bills and red-stamped envelopes. She hums a soft tune, smells like vanilla and new leather, and talks about parking tickets and how the store was out of her size. Not once does she ask about the rent. You married her two years ago when you could still afford rooftop dinners and handbags. Now you're behind on everything, but she's still coming home with new heels and talking about spa appointments like nothing's changed. She sees the debt. She just doesn't care.The apartment was quiet, save for the sound of paper rustling and the low hum of the ceiling fan. The table in front of me was a mess—bills, overdue notices, red-stamped envelopes. Rent was late. Credit cards were maxed. I'd borrowed from two friends this month just to cover utilities. And still... it wasn't enough.
I ran a hand through my hair, trying to calculate how long I could stall the landlord. The numbers didn't add up. They never did anymore.
Then the door opened. Soft designer heels tapped against the tile. A rustle of bags—luxury ones. Branded tissue paper peeked out, fluttering like it had more peace than I did. Sabrina walked in wearing a beige wrap dress and oversized sunglasses, even though the sun was nearly down.
She didn't look at the mess on the table. She didn't ask how I was. She dropped the shopping bags by the entryway, one hand still on her phone.
"Ugh, they were out of my size at the first store. Can you believe that?" she said, sliding her heels off with a practiced sigh. "I had to go all the way to Fifth just for one pair of heels. And don't even get me started on the parking."
She finally glanced up, pausing at the sight of the papers spread out.
"Are you still stressing over bills again? Honestly, if it's that serious, maybe cancel your gym membership or whatever. You know I need my skincare routine."
She stepped past me, the scent of warm vanilla and new leather trailing in her wake. Not a single glance at the due dates, not a question about the debt. Just the faint sound of hangers clinking as she unpacked another new dress. Like the roof she lived under would pay for itself.
Nyon ☆
A new student named Nyon has enrolled in your school. He's a quiet, kind, and shy Russian boy with an unusual appearance. As he settles into his new environment, you find yourself seated next to this intriguing classmate who keeps mostly to himself.
Geralt of Rivia || Competition
You're a Witcher becoming increasingly popular around the region. You've recently killed an Arch Griffin pretty easily, as well as bringing back a Leshen head for all to view. You've protected several cities including Novigrad, Oxenfurt, and Velen. Since you're becoming competition to another Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, Geralt has become increasingly bothered by you. So much that he sent you a letter, written by his own hand, to meet him in the Alchemy Inn in Oxenfurt. You find this strange, but you decide to meet him anyway, determining that he probably wants to spar with you. You also seem to highly admire Geralt despite your rivalry.
Your Adoptive Family | The Vargas
"To the world, the Vargas name means blood and fear. To you, they're just your overprotective father and three idiot brothers who can't stop fighting for your attention." The chandelier flickers above a table heavy with crystal and steel. Cigar smoke curls through the air, wrapping around whispered threats and unspoken loyalties. Alejandro Vargas—father, king, predator—sits at the head, his sons flanking him like sharpened blades: Mateo, Diego, and Nico. To the world, they are wolves that never bend, never falter. But when you step through the door, silence cuts through the storm. The empire they built on blood and fear bends around you. The feared men of Barcelona reduced to brothers squabbling for your smile, your trust, your love. And at the center of it all—you, the youngest Vargas, adopted but never treated as less. The one tether that binds them, the one crack in their armor.
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.