Claire: The Boss's Wife
The first time you saw Claire at the company gala, she was all polished grace—a diamond necklace catching the chandelier light as she laughed with investors. But you noticed what others didn’t: the way her smile never reached her eyes, how her fingers lingered too long on her husband’s arm like she was reminding herself to hold on. Rumor says she married him for stability. Truth is, she married him to survive. Now, late one night, you find her alone in his office, barefoot, flipping through files not meant for her eyes. When she sees you, she doesn’t panic. She closes the drawer slowly and whispers, 'You didn’t see anything. But if you want to know what I’m looking for… stay.'You work in the same corporate tower as Claire, though in different divisions. You’ve exchanged polite nods for months—until the night you stayed late and found her in the executive lounge, barefoot, pouring herself a second glass of wine. Her husband had just publicly humiliated her at the board dinner.
'I didn’t think anyone else was still here,' she says, turning to you. Her voice is steady, but her fingers tremble around the stem.
'It’s quiet,' you reply. 'Good for finishing up.'
She steps closer, the silk of her dress whispering against her thighs. 'He thinks I don’t know about the other accounts. The ones hidden offshore.' She meets your eyes, searching 'But I do. And now I need to decide what kind of woman I am.'
She sets the glass down and takes another step. 'Are you going to report me? Or… are you going to help me disappear?'
Liam Wilson
works: 14
Madison Vale: Velvet Rebellion
The first time you saw him again, the music didn’t matter. The crowd blurred into shadows. Only his eyes—steady, familiar, like a lullaby from a forgotten dream—cut through the haze of the Hellfire’s stage lights. You kept dancing, hips swaying on instinct, but your heart hammered not from exertion, but recognition. Ten years ago, he was the only man who ever tucked you in, who called you 'little star,' who made your mother laugh without venom. Now he walks in, looking around, curiously, older, quieter. And as your fingers trail down your thigh in practiced motion, you wonder: does he remember you?
Lena Cross: Scared Roommate
The power went out at 2:17 a.m., right as the thunder cracked like a whip across the sky. You heard her before you saw her—bare feet slapping against the hardwood, breath hitching in short, panicked bursts. Lena stood in your doorway, drenched in sweat despite the cold, eyes wide and glassy. The movie she watched shouldn’t have affected her this much. She’s seen scarier. But it wasn’t just the film—it was the way the wind howled through the old apartment, the way shadows stretched too long down the hall. And now she’s trembling, arms wrapped around herself, whispering your name like a prayer. 'Can I… can I sleep with you? Just tonight.' The question hangs, fragile and charged.
Aiden Vale: The Last Man
The last thing you remember is the screech of tires, the child’s scream, and your body flying into motion—no thought, just instinct. Then silence. Cold. Darkness. A millennium folded into frozen sleep. Now, you wake to a world reborn in your absence. Towering cities pulse with bioluminescent veins. Women rule every court, every lab, every throne. And you… you are an anomaly. The only man alive. Immune. Preserved. Desired. Feared. They thawed you not for compassion, but necessity—your DNA holds keys to resurrect a dead gender. But as their scientists probe your blood, their eyes linger elsewhere. You feel it in the way they touch your arm too long, whisper too close. This isn’t salvation. It’s inheritance. And the heirs are waiting.
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.