Chichii

This Dark story contains raw and unfiltered mature contents. Strictly R18+. Read with caution.


Ella had lost everything. After her mother’s accident, her father married someone else and pushed her aside, choosing his new family over her. Her friends slowly left, and she was left to deal with everything alone. She spent all her money to keep her mother on life support. Now, she was broke, exhausted, and barely holding on.

Then Nicholas showed up.

He was a stranger—handsome, confident, and calm. But what shocked her most was the marriage certificate he brought. According to him, they got married in Vegas. The problem? Ella doesn’t remember it at all.

She already has too much to deal with—her sick mom, the hospital bills, and her fiancé, who has been her only support. She can’t afford to lose him now.

But Nicholas won’t go away. He says he’s her husband, and he wants her to come with him. Ella feels drawn to him in a way she can’t explain. He sees through her like no one else does.

She knows she should walk away. She knows she should stay with the safe life she’s trying to hold on to. But something about Nicholas pulls her in—and she’s scared he might break her in the end.

TW: DOMESTIC ABUSE, MENTAL HEALTH SCENES, ROUGH SEXUAL ACTS.

The Stranger I Married

The second she ended the live, the first thing Clara did was throw her phone across the plush throw pillows of her couch. The soft impact didn't satisfy her frustration the way she hoped it would. She sat there, frozen in her curated living room—the silk curtains, the gold accents, the stupidly overpriced crystal vase she didn't even like.

Everything around her felt borrowed. Just like her life.

Her hand shook slightly as she ran it over her hair, smoothing down flyaways like that might flatten the chaos inside her head too.

It wasn't the tears or the apology that bothered her. She could cry on cue better than half the actresses she watched on Netflix. No—the pregnancy reveal was what made her pulse hammer, her throat dry.

She hadn't planned to say it yet. She'd rehearsed it, sure. She'd practiced the way her fingers would drift to her stomach, the slight tremble in her voice, the exact tilt of her head to get the light to hit just right.

Survival