Spoiled By The Ruthless Esports Captain
Kaitlynn's mother forced her to entertain Jorden, a cold, overbearing professional esports captain who she only remembered as an annoying, mud-eating brat.
She despised him in real life, saving all her admiration for "Hex," the god-tier player in her favorite MMO who constantly spoiled her with thousand-dollar rare items.
Trapped in Jorden's luxury car during a forced errand, Kaitlynn couldn't stand his arrogant attitude anymore.
She proudly bragged about Hex, claiming her online master's mechanics were vastly superior to any so-called professional player.
"He's the absolute ceiling," she declared defensively. "He's way better than you."
Jorden just smirked, his dark eyes dismissing her entirely.
"Sounds like a nerd living in his mom's basement."
Kaitlynn was furious, ready to scream at him, until his work phone suddenly rang.
Right in front of her, he casually commanded his team using an extremely rare, high-tier strategy exclusive to her game.
Kaitlynn's mind completely short-circuited.
Why would the captain of North America's biggest esports organization know Aethelgard's secret meta?
And why did his commanding, ruthless voice suddenly sound exactly like the low, comforting chuckle that echoed in her headset every night?
As Jorden's gaze dropped to the rare assassin class keychain resting on her lap, a wicked, knowing smile flashed across his face.
The untouchable esports tyrant had just realized his rebellious real-life enemy was his deeply pampered in-game student, and her peaceful double life was about to end.
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Chapter 2
Kaitlynn moved her mouse, her index finger trembling slightly.
She hovered the cursor over the purple Abyssal Crystal in her inventory.
The massive magic power stats popped up in a tooltip box.
She slapped a hand over her mouth, her teeth biting into her palm to stop herself from screaming.
She opened her friends list.
Hex's name sat at the top, completely grayed out.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time, the plastic keys cold against her skin.
She finally pressed down, typing out a long, rambling paragraph of gratitude.
She hit enter.
Immediately, the guild chat icon flashed violently.
The vice-guild master sent her a private message.
"Did Hex just adopt you as his personal sugar baby? That material goes for at least a grand on the black market."
Blood rushed to Kaitlynn's cheeks, making her skin burn.
She slammed her fingers onto the keys, typing furiously.
"We are just master and student! It's pure!"
The vice-guild master replied with a laughing emoji.
"Nobody gives away a thousand dollars for pure reasons, Aetheria."
The words hit Kaitlynn's chest like a physical weight.
Her heart started to hammer against her ribs, the rhythm fast and erratic.
She closed the chat window and clicked on Hex's profile picture.
She wanted to find something, anything, that proved he was real.
The profile page loaded.
It was completely blank.
No linked social media, no bio, no location tags.
Kaitlynn let out a frustrated breath.
She pushed her feet against the floor, rolling her chair back.
She tilted her head back against the headrest and stared at the white ceiling.
An image formed in her mind.
She pictured Hex in a tailored suit, a Wall Street elite with sharp jawlines and cold eyes.
She shook her head, her hair rubbing against the leather chair.
No, his voice was too commanding.
Maybe he was a retired military guy, someone used to giving orders under fire.
Then, a darker thought crept in.
Maybe he was just a guy living in a basement, surrounded by empty pizza boxes, typing with greasy fingers.
She shuddered, a physical wave of goosebumps breaking out across her arms.
Regardless of what he looked like, that low chuckle echoed in her ears again.
Her stomach did a strange, tight flip.
She glanced at the digital clock on her desk.
The red numbers glared back at her: 3:00 AM.
She groaned, her throat dry.
She reached forward, closed the game client, and yanked the headset cord out of the USB port.
She pushed herself up from the chair.
Her joints popped as she stretched her arms over her head.
She walked over to the window and pulled the plastic blinds shut, blocking out the orange glow of the streetlamp.
She crawled into her bed, pulling the heavy comforter up to her chin.
She closed her eyes, but the image of the Treant falling kept flashing behind her eyelids.
She rolled onto her side.
She reached under her pillow, her fingers finding the cold metal of her phone.
She unlocked the screen and opened Twitter.
She tapped the trending tab.
Right at the top, the number one trend was "AethelgardWhisperingForest".
She clicked the hashtag.
Thousands of tweets were pouring in, linking to clips of Hex's final dodge and dagger throw.
A hot wave of pride swelled in her chest, making it hard to breathe.
She double-tapped a tweet calling Hex the only god of the server.
She pressed the power button, plunging the room into darkness.
She shoved the phone back under her pillow and forced her eyes shut.
Sleep pulled her under slowly.
In her dream, she was standing in the Whispering Forest.
A tall, broad-shouldered shadow stood in front of her, blocking the toxic sludge.
The shadow turned around and reached a hand out toward her.
His face was covered in a thick, gray fog.
Kaitlynn strained her eyes, stepping forward, desperate to see his features.
A loud, sharp banging noise shattered the fog.
Kaitlynn groaned, grabbing her pillow and smashing it over her ears.
The banging didn't stop.
"Kaitlynn! It's almost noon!"
Her mother's voice, muffled but angry, pierced through the bedroom door.
Kaitlynn's eyes snapped open.
She sat up violently, her heart racing from the sudden wake-up.
She dragged her hands through her tangled hair, the reality of the morning crashing down on her.
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7.7
Not only was I drugged, blinded and assaulted. I was deceived into carrying a baby by a stranger I never knew. Then he appeared and took my child away.
I was sent to a militia by the father of my child. I thought I was rescued but I was recruited to be a weapon for killing. Who was manipulating me, I didn't know. The answers were far from what I knew.
Forced to blend into the world that I could never believe I would be to, a place where brutality reigned, kill or be killed was the only language. I have survived but he has to pay for everything he did to me, because I believed every phase of my life was set by him and him alone. Have I really survived?
Who would have thought, he existed twice in the same world? Do I really know who I should take revenge on? Him or the person I would sacrifice everything for?
Was my mother the one who orchestrated everything? What kind of pawn am I?
7.6
Jocelyn Yang lived in the grand Turner Mansion, not as a guest, but as a prisoner. Ever since her father's death, the ruthless billionaire Elam Turner forced her to atone for sins her father never committed.
On her nineteenth birthday, a male classmate secretly sent her a diamond necklace. Elam, who had flown back from London overnight, flew into a psychotic, jealous rage at the sight of another man's gift.
He mercilessly crushed the delicate necklace into the marble floor with his custom leather shoe.
"Did you forget what you are?" Elam hissed, dragging her into a pitch-black storage room. "You take gifts from other men behind my back?"
He pinned her to the dusty floorboards and violently assaulted her. The next morning, a wire transfer of $500,000 hit her bank account. He had humiliated her, broken her spirit, and was now casually trying to buy her silence. Later, when a broken bike left her walking miles through a freezing rainstorm, he just shoved scalding tea into her bleeding hands.
"Look at you," he sneered. "You look like a stray dog ruining my floors."
Jocelyn curled up in the cold, her lips bleeding and her heart shattered. She couldn't understand his terrifying obsession. If he hated her so much, why did he refuse to let her go? Why did he look at her with such manic hunger while systematically destroying her life?
Staring at the massive sum of hush money on her phone, a desperate spark of vengeance flared in her chest. Jocelyn wired every single cent back to Elam's account. She picked up her charcoal pencil, vowing to win the upcoming art competition and buy her escape from this monster forever.
9.5
Carin survived a horrific escape pod crash only to wake up in the mud of an uncharted, barbaric alien planet.
Before she could even process the pain of her fractured ribs, she was captured by towering, wolf-headed warriors who stripped her of her protective gear and threw her into a filthy slave pen.
Because she lacked animal ears and a tail, the clan's arrogant elites mocked her as a repulsive deformity, beating her with spears and forcing her to shovel toxic dung in the deadly Blade Beast pens.
The other female laborers violently bullied her and stole her only scraps of food, leaving her starving and defenseless in a brutal society where the strong preyed on the weak.
"If you're unclaimed at the mating ceremony, they force you into the breeding program, and you'll be nothing but a vessel until you die."
She was terrified, exhausted, and completely unequipped to survive this nightmare, but after a miraculous farming system suddenly awakened in her mind, she knew she desperately needed a powerful shield to protect her secret from the greedy tribe.
During the chaotic mating ceremony, amidst the cruel laughter of the entire clan, she stepped directly in front of Brannon—a terrifying, sterile, mutant outcast despised by everyone—and boldly claimed the deadly warrior as her mate.
9.7
Agent Alivia Sanford opened her eyes to the suffocating stench of wild animal musk and raw sex.
She hadn't just transmigrated into a savage beastman world; she had woken up in the body of a 300-pound, diseased, and universally despised woman. Worse, the original owner had just drugged the tribe's strongest warrior, trying to force a mating.
Now, the warrior pinned her to the cave floor with murderous fury.
"You think you can trap me, you disgusting pig?" he snarled, ready to rip her throat out.
After kneeing him and escaping, a "Super Charm AI" bound to her mind demanded she conquer her five designated mates to survive. But these men treated her like a walking plague. They mocked her bloated face, threw bloody raw meat into the mud for her to eat, and publicly announced they would starve her to death. Even her own family looked at her with utter disgust.
In her past life, she was a legendary survivor who could have crushed these arrogant men with her bare hands. Now, she was trapped in a weak shell, threatened with soul erasure by a system if she didn't grovel for their affection. Why should she beg for love from beasts who wanted her dead?
Looking at the five "-100" hostility scores on her system panel, Alivia coldly drew a mental cross over each of their faces. Enduring agonizing pain, she forced her bio-manipulation ability to violently purge the toxins from her fat body. She wasn't going to play their twisted game; she was going to find her own resources and make them pay.
7.6
My baby daughter died in the cold hospital, and I agreed to donate her heart to save another pup. I brought her ashes home in a small wooden box, seeking comfort from my mate.
But when I returned to the packhouse, I found a massive celebration. My Alpha mate wasn't away on patrol; he was throwing a grand Naming Ceremony for his sister's newborn. He didn't even know our daughter was dead.
"Give Lyra the gift. Now."
He impatiently demanded I hand over the box in my arms. When his sister's son tried to snatch it, I pushed him away to protect my baby's ashes. His sister immediately screamed, accusing me of trying to hurt her children out of jealousy.
Without asking a single question, my mate grabbed my wrist, ready to smash the box to teach me a lesson. To save my daughter's remains, I had to drop to the floor, bare my neck in ultimate submission, and lie that it was just my late father's relics.
He was disgusted by my tears. Later, when I tried to jump off the balcony to end my pain, he pulled me back—not out of love, but because my suicide would ruin his perfect party. He locked me in my room and ordered the maids to force me into a bright red dress for the evening feast.
Looking at the red silk that mocked my bleeding heart, my despair finally died, replaced by a cold, venomous hatred. I tucked a white funeral flower into my hair and walked out the door. This time, I was going to turn their joyous celebration into a living hell.
9.4
I was the daughter of a defeated Alpha, kneeling as a broken war spoil before the ruthless Lycan King, Kaelen Varg.
Through a twisted misunderstanding with a spiked drink, the tyrant lost control. But when he attacked me, an impossible spark ignited between us. His inner wolf roared in triumph, recognizing me as his fated Mate, and he claimed me in the heat of the night.
But the next morning, he woke up with another woman's name on his lips. Realizing he had surrendered to a lowly tribute, his eyes filled with absolute, violent loathing. To erase the humiliation of our bond, he shoved me to the floor like garbage.
"Take her to the Barrens. Leave her there. Make sure she never comes back."
His Beta dragged me to a sealed, sun-baked wasteland crawling with mutated beasts. They clamped silver cuffs onto my wrists, searing my flesh and suppressing my wolf, leaving me to die a slow, agonizing death.
I lay in the scorching dirt, the silver burning into my bones. I couldn't understand how a fated Mate could be so merciless. Why was my life worth less than his twisted pride? Why did I have to be fed to monsters just so he could keep his throne spotless?
The cold rage in my core solidified into a diamond-hard resolve. I forced my bleeding body to stand in the desolate wasteland. I will not die here. I will survive, and I will live to see his kingdom burn.