post apocalyptia

All I did was post a photo of the exquisite pink diamond necklace my dad gave me for my birthday. An intern, however, confronted me in front of everyone. “Miss Anderson, why is my necklace with you? Do you think being a manager gives you the right to steal from others?” I calmly explained that it was a birthday gift from my dad, personally purchased at an auction. She didn’t believe me. Instead, she pulled out surveillance footage showing me entering and leaving her office and flat-out accused me of being a thief. “Some people can’t get what they want, so they resort to stealing. Do you honestly think taking a necklace means you can take over someone’s entire life? And you’re actually trying to pass yourself off as the heiress of Anderson Corporation? Isn’t that completely ridiculous?”

My roommate had a peculiar knack for pestering everyone into liking her posts on social media, all so she could collect enough likes to claim some prize or another. It was her way of life—nagging, nudging, and guilting us into clicking that little thumbs-up. One time, the campus beauty queen liked my roommate's ad for a facial mask. Not long after, she was in a horrific car accident. The vehicle caught fire, and her face suffered severe burns, leaving her disfigured beyond recognition. Meanwhile, my roommate seemed to undergo a miraculous transformation, her complexion turning porcelain fair and flawless as though she'd been kissed by the heavens. Then there was the academic prodigy, a shoe-in for graduate school, who liked her tutoring service post. Shortly after, he was exposed for academic fraud, and his once-brilliant reputation was reduced to ashes. Strangely enough, my roommate's research paper suddenly won an award, catapulting her to fame and fortune. And me? I fell into her trap too. I liked her rental agency ad, and before I knew it, my world crumbled. A scandal erupted, revealing that I was the result of a mix-up at birth. It turned out she was the long-lost child of wealth and privilege—a hidden gem cast into the rough, now reclaimed by her rightful family. As for me, I was packed off to the countryside village she had escaped from and forced into a brutal marriage with an old man. My life became a living hell, and eventually, I died there, broken and forgotten. But fate wasn't done with me yet. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day my roommate begged me to like her post in exchange for yet another prize.

"When I married you, you had nothing! So now that we are Divorced, you will leave with nothing! And that includes your clothes and panties! You're gonna leave this house naked, Ivy!" ****** Ivy Moore has been married to Lysander Morale for ten years but they had no child. She thought her husband loved her even though she was poor and barren but on their TENTH wedding anniversary, he threw divorce papers to her face and made a mockery of her barrenness not knowing that she was three weeks pregnant for him! Furthermore, his mistress was two months pregnant for him! Ivy had to reveal the truth to Lysander about her pregnancy but that made her have a miscarriage. She signed the Divorce Papers and left the Morale mansion! The truth that Lysander and his family don't know about Ivy is that she is the unknown Heiress of Moore family. Upon her return, her father made her the CEO of Moore Group. She accepted this post because she wants to make the entire Morale family pay for everything they caused her! She will be starting with Lysander Morale! Who is next in line?

Three months before my wedding, my fiancé, Henry Siebert, decided it was the perfect time to drop a maternity photo shoot on social media—with my foster sister, Betty Foster. The caption? Oh, just this gem: [Legally welcoming our little one into the world.] Betty added a shy emoji. And my mom? She liked the post and wrote: [Once the baby is born, I'll help take care of it so you two can enjoy your time together as a couple.] I couldn't help myself. I replied with a single question mark. And then Henry's DMs came in hot: [She's just borrowing me for a year to get married. Once the baby's born, I'll come back to you.]

After being resurrected from death, my nightmare began. I was taken into the throne room; Fredrick stood up from the throne and made his way to me, scanning my features and speak. "Undress Yourself" he demanded. One wouldn't murder their lover, and 120 years later, when the body has become a walking dead, he demands they take their clothes off upon first arrival. Being fucked in Infront of everyone is a disgrace for someone who just woke up from death, I wish I could crawl back into my grave. Fredrick Is The Devil. ************************************************ My name is Edmond; I am Fredrick's look-alike; 120 years ago, I killed Fredrick, took his identity, and killed his woman, Molly. I have turned his mansion into my palace. I have ruled his city and people for 120 years. I'm their God, and whoever dares to oppose me we be killed in an instant. My enemy awakened will not shake me because I will kill him again and make his woman my bitch. I, Molly Dobrev, have been awakened from the dead to kill my lover, Fredrick, for his betrayal and to free the people from his terror. The only question I have in my mind is, can I kill him? My name is Fredrick Lannister; I have been resurrected from the dead by unknown witches. I have come to reclaim my identity and save my woman from the hands of my doppelganger, Edmond. This imposter has ruled with tyranny, but I vow to bring him down and restore justice to the people.

After my grandmother passed away, I returned from my countryside home to Oberis City, ready to tidy things up and prepare for my wedding. But no sooner had I arrived at the wedding planning company, ready to book an extravagant, luxurious wedding, than the staff there delivered a piece of news that struck me like a thunderbolt. The groom—my groom—had already gotten married. Three months ago, Cain Bassett, the eldest son of the wealthiest family's conglomerate, tied the knot with his childhood sweetheart, the daughter of the mayor of Lith City—Mary Schindler. Now here I stood, frowning in front of the grand gates of Cain's villa. But the thing is, I am Mary Schindler, the daughter of the mayor of Lith City.

I found a condom and a lace thong in the bathroom trash can. John and I had not been intimate in over a year, and I certainly did not own that kind of underwear. I thought about calling him, but then I came across a post from his god-sister of him passionately holding and kissing her foot. Though I was heartbroken, I did not cry or cause a scene. I turned off my phone and forced myself to carry on with life. Eventually, John finally noticed something was wrong. With red eyes, he asked, "Why didn't you care about me flirting with another woman?"