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How to survive a possesive Tycoon

Fionlyn Markwern was just an ordinary programming student — an orphan, a part-time barista, and a girl labeled misfortune by everyone around her. Rumors stalked her like shadows; no matter how hard she worked, no one wanted her. Until one night, at the river’s edge, a hooded figure smiled before the water swallowed her whole. When she opened her eyes, she was no longer in her world. She had become Fionlyn Amster, the heiress of a powerful family in a second world of tycoons, empires, and secrets. Her hair was different, her name rewritten, her life suddenly gilded in gold. But even in luxury, danger follows. A mysterious stalker slips through shadows with riddles and letters, whispering about broken promises. A ruthless business tycoon, Michael Lawrence — feared as a man who can destroy nations with a word — calls her his Lyn and swears he will protect her, adore her, and never let her go. Two men. Two promises. Two worlds colliding. Yet Lyn only wants to survive — to laugh, to code, to eat noodles in peace, and to untangle the truth of who she was and who she is becoming. When memories begin to surface and the past won’t stay buried, she must decide: Will she cling to the safety of Michael’s storm, or risk everything on the ghost of Adrian’s smile? And in the background, the household of bodyguards, secretaries, and one very dramatic sidekick keep turning life into a chaotic comedy of misunderstandings. “For the day you forget, I’ll remind you. For the day you ask, I’ll let you go.” But what happens when the promises themselves are the chains?
2dtrifafa · 1.5k Views

Entangled Fates: Woven In Stardust

In the shadowed realms where mortal breaths intertwine with the whispers of fate, life unfolds as a merciless scribe, etching its decrees in ink spun from sorrow. From the first gasp of a newborn soul, the threads of their destiny are bound by the rotted parchment of others' judgments. A prison woven not by iron, but by the venomous counsel of those who claim dominion over truth. No deed of valor, no moonlit vigil of toil, nor blood spilled in pursuit of one's creed can unravel the skein of condemnation. For the celestial loom spins eternally, its gears forged by the hands of scorn, weaving all hope into an endless tapestry of anguish. A cycle, cruel and unbroken, as silver needles of judgment pierce the tattered fabric of will, each stitch a dirge, each thread a serpent coiling tighter. Perfection, they croon, is the sigil of the righteous, a gilded lie sold by shadowed councils in their marble halls. Yet what is this perfection? But a hollowed relic, a marionette's dance to the tune of hollowed minds? To walk the path others deem "flawless" is to wander a labyrinth with no sky, no stars, no breath of wind to stir the soul's embers. Even time, that fickle mender, cannot fully seal the cracks wrought by sorrow's blade. Wounds may close, scars fading like ink drowned in rain, but their echoes linger, phantom storms in the marrow of one's spirit. Or do they? For in this realm of ash and twilight, where even the gods avert their gaze... can a soul truly outrun the venom of its chains?
Manachiichan · 1.1k Views