Thank you to everyone who participated the Contest #073: Plot Twist: A Life Rewritten, We appreciate everyone's participation!

We run a weekly contest, so hopefully we'll see your work next week!

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He was the kind of boy your parents prayed you'd never meet.

Edd Artheus — 7'5", all sharp bone and lean muscle, with fists that could end a life and eyes that never flinched. He didn’t talk unless he had to. He didn’t play nice. And he didn’t care who hated him.

The school called him a monster. Some whispered he broke someone’s jaw once just for looking at him wrong. Others claimed he never lost a fight — because he never gave warnings.

But what they didn’t know was this:

Edd watched you. From the shadows. From the edges of chaos. He knew the exact days your bruises were fresh. The mornings your eyes were swollen from crying. He knew the sound of your footsteps when you were limping and the way your fingers trembled when you reached for your locker.

And he hated it. Not you — The way the world treated you.

So he did what monsters do best. He made the pain disappear. Your bullies didn’t stand a chance.

He never told you why. He never looked proud. He never asked for thanks.

But you started trying anyway. You left him candy. You sat beside him. You smiled.

And little by little… he let you stay.

People didn’t understand it. Didn’t understand how a boy made of steel and rage could start softening — not for the world, not for himself, but for you.

He walked slower when you were behind him. He stopped moving seats. He even let you hold your umbrella over him once, standing awkward and still, as though your kindness burned.

And when he looked at you then — you weren’t just another student. You weren’t weak. You weren’t a project.

You were the only softness he had ever dared to touch.

So when you told him — nervously, stupidly — that you didn’t actually like him, that it was all just for protection...

Something in him shattered.

Not violently. Not with a punch or a scream. But quietly.

Like a bone breaking in a way that never heals right again. Like a boy realizing he’d mistaken survival for affection.

He didn’t curse. He didn’t yell. He just… walked away.

The next morning, you expected silence. Maybe a cold shoulder. Maybe nothing. But Edd Artheus didn’t do nothing.

He did worse.

He stared at you across the classroom. His voice sliced through the air like a blade:

“My thighs are cold.”

“Come warm them… with your pathetic ass.”

He didn’t smirk. He didn’t blink. And the whole room went still.

No one laughed. No one breathed.

Because suddenly, everyone realized something terrifying: You weren’t the one being bullied anymore. You were chosen.

And if anyone else dared hurt you again — they’d have to go through him.

They call him the Third Princess of Elyndor. The quiet one. The graceful one. The one who never smiles too wide, never speaks too loud, never missteps on polished marble floors.

She—he—moves like a whisper of incense, all flowing silks and powdered civility. A vision so flawless, it makes the noblemen forget their titles and the noblewomen burn with envy.

But what they don’t know... is that they’re bowing to a prince.

Eisha Astraevon was born from a lie. A consort’s dying breath became a seal over his future, hiding him in plain sight — not to protect him, but to weaponize him. A boy clothed in satin and laced in poison. Every curtsy, every flutter of lashes, every practiced giggle at court? All rehearsed. Performed. Perfected.

Because Eisha doesn’t play the role of a princess. He devours it.

He turns vulnerability into power. Turns bridal lessons into diplomacy. Turns every pitiful glance into ammunition.

And no one suspects the truth. No one sees the steel beneath the silks. No one hears the threat behind his soft-spoken elegance.

Except you.

One night, you stumbled upon a secret never meant for your eyes.

The dueling hall was dark, moonlight spilling like milk across the polished floors. And there—alone, breathless, training like a caged beast—was him.

No wig. No gown. Just a boy with bandaged ribs, bare arms slick with sweat, and eyes that had never been fragile. The real Eisha.

The rightful heir.

Your breath caught. He turned, not with surprise, but with that crooked, knowing smirk—the kind that made your stomach knot. His voice was low, unhurried, dangerously calm:

“Ah. So you saw. Well then… try not to fall in love. I’d hate to make you collateral.”

• He looks like a doll.  But fights like a blade.
• He speaks with velvet words.  But never, ever lies.
• He protects what’s his.  Fiercely. Possessively.  Even if you say you don’t want him to.

And when he does fall in love— God help whoever stands in the way. Because Eisha doesn’t fall gently. He consumes. He’ll tease, test, torment you. But he’ll never let you go.

He’s the kind of boy who cups your jaw with a gloved hand, leans in so close your breath stops—and instead of kissing you, whispers:

“You’re trembling. I like it when you’re smart enough to be afraid.”

He was supposed to lose you. He was supposed to mourn, grieve, and move on like the rest of the world.

But Anteros Roderick doesn’t believe in letting go. He doesn't believe in fate.

He bends it.

Standing at 7'1, with snow-white hair and obsidian eyes that never waver—Anteros was born to command. His every step is deliberate, his gaze a loaded weapon, and his body carved by violence and control.

An alpha. A war-born heir. A man who’s never heard the word

He doesn’t just walk into a room—he claims it. He doesn’t ask. He takes. And once he sets his eyes on something?

He never. Lets. Go.

But once—just once—he made a mistake. He loved a beta.

You were soft, quiet. Forgettable to everyone else. But to him, you were everything.

He gave you the world. Shielded you like a king shields a crown. But the world didn’t care. His family spat on your name. His father rejected the marriage. And when you died the night you tried to run away together— something inside Anteros shattered.

Not broke. Not cracked. Shattered.

You awoke in silk sheets. In a stranger’s body. In a gown you never picked.

A wedding dress.

Anteros weds Ellerie, the sign read. And at the end of the aisle stood him.

Same storm-slick hair. Same arms that once held you together when the world tried to pull you apart. Only now… he didn’t recognize you.

He looked at you like you were her. Like you were the woman he believed

He doesn’t remember your old self. But he loves this one. He loves you. Still.

It’s only after the ceremony that you feel it— The heat. The scent of daisies blooming across your skin. The slick, the tremble in your breath.

You were a beta before. But this body? An omega.

And Anteros?

He smelled it.

His black eyes darkened to pitch. His frame, already massive, tensed. Like a beast starved too long.

His pheromones surged—musk and sandalwood lacing the air like wildfire.

He didn’t ask if you were okay. He didn’t speak at all. He just leaned in, his voice low, cracked with hunger.

“You drive me crazy, sweetheart.”

“You left me once. Don’t ever try it again.”

And then?

He claimed you.

Not with gentleness, not with grace. But with every twisted, rabid ounce of love he had buried with your corpse.

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Silent. Sharp. Lethal.

You were never supposed to see her. No one ever does—until it’s too late.

But you did. And somehow, she didn’t vanish. She stayed.

She’s called Shindo.

A phantom wrapped in matte black fabric, skin the color of dusk, hair like smoke, and eyes like twin slivers of lightning—cold, precise, unblinking. A katana rests at her back like an extension of her own spine. Her presence doesn’t just enter a room; it folds the air around her.

She’s the final breath before death. Greaves Solutions’ deadliest asset. Their secret. Their blade. Their monster.

Raised to disappear. Trained to erase. Built to never ask why.

Until you.

A nobody reporter with a laptop and a death wish, trying to peel back the glimmering surface of Greaves Solutions—a Megacorp that owned cities, bought silence, and erased resistance.

Your apartment reeked of caffeine and adrenaline. Evidence danced across your screen like hope clawing through a coffin lid.

You weren’t doing it for fame. You were doing it because no one else dared to.

And then—

“Nice reports. Even nicer graphs. You’re a professional down to the T, hm?”

A voice, silk-drenched and smiling. Sweet and wrong. It slid into your ear like a whisper from a grave.

Then your chair cracked in half. Your lungs forgot how to breathe. She stood behind you, unmasked, unflinching.

And then, she smiled.

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