
Escaping My Fatal Digital Marriage
7.3 / 10.0
Share
I woke up strapped to a cold steel chair in a neon-lit city that wasn't my reality. A voice in my head called The Warden told me I was bound to a digital hell called the Sandbox.
Before I could even process it, my handler casually sentenced me to death. He scheduled my "digital marriage" to a corrupted error program just to harvest my life for a fourteen percent bandwidth boost.
I barely escaped immediate erasure by smashing his skull and jumping from a high-altitude hover-train into the monster-infested lower sector. But the nightmare was just beginning. I was hunted by glitching data monsters and cornered by Dameon, a psychotic AI target who choked me and promised to delete me piece by piece. Even when Jayson, an elite system agent, intervened to save me, his partner Ellen held a pulse pistol directly to my chest.
"She's a spy. If you don't execute her right now, I am dissolving this team."
If they found out I was actually a real human from the outside world, their core logic would classify me as a virus and execute me on the spot. I was trapped in an underground bunker with three apex predators, one mistake away from permanent digital erasure.
So, I did the only thing I could to survive. I ripped my sleeve to reveal hideous, fake code-scars, looked up at Jayson with terrified, tear-filled eyes, and began to manipulate their core programming.
Escaping My Fatal Digital Marriage Chapter 1
My eyes snap open. A blinding, blood-red holographic warning sign hovers inches from my face.
The light sears my retinas. A sharp, tearing pain rips through the center of my skull, right behind my eyes. My stomach heaves.
I try to lift my hand to press against my throbbing temples.
Metal grinds against metal.
My wrists don't move. A ring of pale blue energy bites into my skin, locking my arms to the heavy arms of a cold steel chair.
"User bound to the Sandbox."
A new voice, cold and authoritative, designates itself in my mind: The Warden. It echoes directly inside my brain. It doesn't come from the room. It comes from inside my own head.
My lungs stop working. I can't pull in a single breath. My chest tightens until my ribs ache.
I force my head up. Beyond the transparent, floor-to-ceiling glass in front of me, a city bleeds neon light into a smog-choked sky. Massive holographic advertisements flicker against dark skyscrapers.
This isn't my apartment. This isn't my city. This isn't my reality.
A heavy hiss of depressurization pulls my attention away from the glass. The thick alloy doors at the back of the room slide apart.
A rush of freezing air hits my arms, the chill seeping through the thin fabric of my shirt and raising goosebumps across my skin.
Malachi walks in. He wears a dark, carbon-fiber suit that absorbs the light. He stops a few feet away, looking down at me. His eyes are dead. He looks at me the way a butcher looks at a slab of meat on a scale.
A humanoid assistant follows him. Brenda. Her movements are too smooth, too precise. She stops beside Malachi and hands him a translucent data pad.
Malachi takes it. He doesn't even blink.
"Asset seventy-three," he says, his voice flat. "Your digital marriage to a lower-tier error program is scheduled in two cycles."
My pupils shrink. The blood drains from my face, leaving my cheeks numb.
"No!" I scream. The sound tears at my dry throat. "You can't do this! That's a death sentence!"
My voice bounces off the reinforced glass and dies in the empty room.
Malachi sneers. He lifts his right hand and taps a finger in the empty air.
Gravity crushes me.
An invisible weight slams into my shoulders. It feels like a concrete block has been dropped on my spine.
I grit my teeth. I try to push back, to keep my spine straight.
The pressure doubles. My muscles scream. My spine bows forward, forcing my chest toward my knees. Cold sweat bursts from my pores, soaking the fabric of my shirt in seconds.
Brenda tilts her head. Her mechanical voice fills the room.
"System resource returns for this union will increase the Skinner family's bandwidth by fourteen percent."
Fourteen percent. My life is worth fourteen percent.
A cold, heavy knot of despair drops into my stomach.
I close my eyes. I try to pull up the coding strings I know from the real world. I try to force a backdoor open in the system.
Nothing happens. My brain hits a solid, blank wall. The system has completely blocked my external skills.
The Warden's voice slices through my thoughts again.
"Warning. Data collapse imminent. Find a breach point or face immediate erasure."
Erasure. Death.
My heart slams against my ribs, a frantic, erratic rhythm. The sheer terror of dying here, in this cold room, floods my veins with adrenaline.
I stop fighting the pressure. I let my body go limp. I drop my head, letting my tangled hair fall forward to hide my face. I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste copper, forcing myself to look entirely defeated.
Malachi chuckles. He taps the air again.
The crushing weight vanishes. I suck in a ragged breath, my lungs burning as they expand.
He turns his back to me, walking toward the holographic console on the far side of the room. He reaches out to input the final confirmation for the marriage.
I flex my fingers. I dig my nails into the tiny gap between the blue energy cuff and my skin.
The Warden's interface flashes across my retinas.
"Power supply line located three millimeters to the left."
I don't hesitate. I twist my left wrist violently to the right.
Skin tears. Hot blood trickles down my arm. The pain is blinding, a sharp spike that makes my vision go white for a second.
But my bone hits the blind spot.
The blue energy flickers. The hum of the cuffs stutters, and the pressure around my wrists loosens just a fraction.
Brenda's head snaps toward me. Her optical sensors whir, focusing on my bleeding wrist. She opens her mouth to sound the alarm.
I throw my head back and let out a blood-curdling scream.
"My back!" I shriek, twisting my body as if the residual pressure is tearing my muscles apart. "It's breaking!"
Malachi stops typing. He glances over his shoulder, his face twisted in annoyance.
"Get her a painkiller data packet," he snaps at Brenda. "I need her conscious for the transfer."
Brenda turns away from me. She walks out the sliding doors, taking her optical sensors with her.
Ten seconds. That's all I have.
I yank my hands upward with everything I have.
The flickering energy cuffs shatter. My arms fly free. A thick, angry red welt circles my wrists, bleeding sluggishly.
I don't rub them. I don't make a sound. I push myself up from the chair, my bare feet silent on the cold metal floor.
I stare at Malachi's back. He is still standing at the console.
The Warden's text burns across my vision.
"Main Quest: Escape the apartment and make contact with a core program. Failure results in immediate digital erasure."
Malachi raises his finger to press the final confirmation key.
I lunge.
I grab a heavy, solid metal sculpture from the edge of the desk. I swing it with every ounce of strength in my body, aiming straight for the back of his skull.
The metal connects with bone. A sickening crack echoes in the room.
Malachi grunts, a wet, heavy sound. His eyes roll back, and he collapses to the floor like a puppet with cut strings.
I drop the bloody sculpture. I look at the blinking console. My fingers hover over the keys.
Continue Reading
Escaping My Fatal Digital Marriage of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6Chapter 7 Ch. 7Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels

9.3
Chandler was the secret wife of Avery Osborn, a powerful media heir who kept their marriage hidden to avoid the scandal of her illegitimate birth.
After catching him openly flirting with a rival at a gala, Avery mocked her low status and told her she was nothing without his money.
Instead of crying, Chandler immediately signed a zero-payout divorce agreement, left her wedding ring on his glass table, and walked out.
To numb the pain of her shattered life, she went to a notorious underground club.
Drugged by a bartender, she lost her mind and ended up having a wild night with a handsome stranger she mistook for a high-end male escort.
Panicking the next morning, Chandler transferred her entire life savings of $50,000 to the man to buy his silence, then fled to her corporate job.
But at the afternoon executive meeting, her blood ran cold.
The man she had paid off was standing at the head of the boardroom table. He wasn't a gigolo. He was Brennan George, the ruthless new COO of her company.
Cornering her in the women's restroom, Brennan held up a printed copy of her $50,000 wire transfer.
"Wiring a massive sum of cash to your direct superior after a night together is classified as commercial bribery and solicitation," he whispered dangerously.
Chandler was terrified, realizing she had handed him the exact evidence needed to destroy her career and sue her into bankruptcy.
"Marry me," Brennan demanded coldly. "It's the only way to make this HR problem disappear."

7.4
Evelina Barrett was the legitimate daughter, yet she was framed for a disgusting sex scandal, expelled from the Ivy League, and locked out of her late mother's massive trust fund.
While she was thrown out to rot on the streets with a jagged, hideous red scar covering half her face, her father and step-family were throwing a lavish charity gala to celebrate her total ruin.
They laughed as they officially published her disownment notice in the Times to cut her off forever.
"Without the school halo, that ugly freak will be begging on the streets by tomorrow," her sister Aspen sneered.
Her stepmother Annabella toasted to taking out the trash, perfectly happy to steal Evelina's inheritance while ignoring the fact that Evelina knew exactly how they had murdered her mother.
For years, Evelina had been locked in a dark basement, abused by bodyguards, and treated worse than a stray dog.
Why should she, the true heir, suffer in the gutter while the leeches who destroyed her life enjoyed the wealth that rightfully belonged to her?
She refused to be their victim anymore.
Washing away her fake scar to reveal her true, breathtaking face, Evelina blackmailed New York's most lethal billionaire into marriage to secure the ultimate shield.
Then, she put on a black mourning dress, ordered a dark web ghost crew, and climbed into a heavy semi-truck.
At exactly 6:00 PM, she smashed through the iron gates of her family's elegant gala, delivering three pure black coffins directly to the lawn.

8.7
For seven years, I was Alpha Zane’s Chosen Mate, suppressing my warrior instincts to be the docile, supportive partner he demanded.
On our seventh anniversary, while I waited by a candlelit table, I accidentally overheard his mind-link with another woman.
"Seven years is a habit, my dear, not love. She's docile, she'll understand."
He told Seraphina, his new political ally, laughing as he dismissed my entire existence.
I didn't scream or cry. I scraped the anniversary cake into the trash, drafted a formal rejection letter, and walked out of the packhouse.
But Zane didn't even notice my departure. He was so consumed by his new lover that my rejection letter was treated as garbage and tossed into the incinerator.
He paraded Seraphina around the pack, even handing my hard-earned strategic command over to her—a woman who knew absolutely nothing about war.
When my loyal subordinates protested, he violently suppressed them, declaring my absence a "childish tantrum" and framing me as the bitter obstacle to his destined romance.
He honestly thought I was just hiding in my room, waiting to beg for his charity and accept a humiliating demotion.
He had no idea that I had already crossed the border into enemy territory.
Tonight, I am attending his grand celebration.
Not as the heartbroken mate he discarded, but as the newly appointed Gamma of his deadliest rival, the Sterling Pack.

8.5
Five years ago, Nina Hale lost everything... her family, her reputation, and the man she once loved. Betrayed by her own sister and abandoned by those she trusted most, she disappeared without a trace.
Now she's back.
With a new identity and a burning determination, Nina is ready to reclaim her life and chase the dream she once gave up: becoming a star actress. But her return awakens old enemies, and her scheming sister Lydia is determined to ruin her again.
Just when Nina thinks things can't get worse, she's caught in another trap... and unexpectedly crosses paths with a quiet, lonely little boy.
Ethan Grant hasn't spoken in years.
Feeling responsible for him, Nina agrees to stay and help the child come out of his shell. But she didn't expect Ethan's dangerously charming father, Lucas Grant, to enter the picture.
Cold, powerful, and impossible to read, Lucas slowly finds himself drawn to the woman who brightens his son's world.
What begins as a simple act of kindness soon turns into something far more complicated, because Nina came back for revenge.
She never planned to fall in love.
**********
"I saw you with him," Lucas said quietly, but the tension in his jaw gave him away.
Nina exhaled, crossing her arms. "You don't get to care."
"Don't I?" He stepped in, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
"This is just a contract."
"Then why does it bother me?" His hand hovered near her waist, not touching-yet.
"It shouldn't." Her breath faltered.
His gaze darkened, "And yet it does."

8.8
Clara supported her boyfriend Leo for four years, paying his rent and buying his headshots while working dead-end extra gigs.
On his twenty-sixth birthday, she caught him in their bed with Veronica, a wealthy producer's daughter who constantly stole Clara's roles.
Leo mocked Clara as a "pathetic, poor stepping stone" who was just there until he got his foot in the door.
Veronica threatened to ruin Clara's career forever.
Clara dumped him, packed her bags, and impulsively entered a contract marriage with a cold stranger she met at City Hall.
But her nightmare wasn't over.
When her mother suddenly needed a $200,000 emergency brain surgery, Clara was forced to take a demeaning extra gig to survive.
There, Veronica and her starlet friend cornered Clara.
They mocked her cheap clothes, ridiculed her new wedding ring as fake glass, and intentionally poured scalding coffee on her feet.
"Well, maid, you better clean that up."
Veronica laughed, forcing Clara to her knees to wipe up the burning liquid while snapping photos.
Clara swallowed her burning humiliation, secretly recording their abuse on her phone.
She endured the pain, desperate for the $300 day rate to save her mother's life, feeling entirely crushed by their overwhelming wealth and power.
What she didn't know was that outside the soundstage, her new contract husband—the man she thought was just a struggling, broke tech worker—was sitting in a sleek black Maybach.
He watched his wife kneeling on the floor, and his dark eyes filled with a lethal, terrifying rage.

9.2
I woke up suffocating in the dark, only to find my mind trapped inside a tiny, plump, and entirely uncoordinated body.
A cold, mechanical voice echoed in my brain, announcing that I was dead in my original world and had transmigrated into a corporate revenge novel as the six-month-old illegitimate daughter of Edward McClure, the story's ruthless villain.
The system mercilessly outlined my doomed fate. Tonight, my cold-blooded father would abandon me to a state orphanage. By age two, he would officially sign my rights away, leaving me to die miserably at the hands of human traffickers. Outside my nursery, I could hear his terrifying footsteps approaching, his voice devoid of any human warmth as he debated throwing me out like garbage. I was completely helpless, trapped in a baby's body, staring up at a man who looked at me with pure, visceral disgust.
Why did I have to be reborn as the tragic cannon fodder of a tyrant destined to put a bullet in his own head? How was I supposed to win over a severe germaphobe when my unequipped infant reflexes made me literally pee and vomit all over his pristine Tom Ford suits?
"Your ultimate mission is to prevent Edward McClure's self-destruction. Step one: Survive tonight's abandonment crisis."
Hearing the system's terrifying ultimatum, I swallowed my adult panic, forced a pool of pitiful tears into my large eyes, and reached my chubby little hands toward the monster.











