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I Was Abducted By Aliens and Sold to the Highest Bidder in the Galaxy

Amesaya
They say, although you never really know how reliable 'they' are, that over five million people go missing every year and are never heard from again. Is that worldwide? America only? I never cared enough to pay attention, because as far as I was concerned, it had nothing to do with me. No one I know has ever disappeared, and the odds say that no one I ever know ever will. There's more people who live in New York City than that, and I've never even been to New York City, much less lived there. I don't know anyone who has. Besides. There's so many more pressing matters to think about. I never have the sort of free time I need to think that, really, I'm playing a lottery with crappy odds I didn't ask to play in. Every single person I know is another entry every year, and first prize is ending up among those people that lose someone who never reappears. Sooner or later, there's a lot of people who win the grand prize jackpot they didn't know they were competing for. At seventeen the state of Oregon doesn't think I'm ready for the cut-throat world of scratch tickets and guessing lottery numbers. Turns out there's some lotteries out there that you don't need to play to win. Some people see their numbers on the television, some people have to wrestle them back from enthusiastic shop owners, and then some people take the scenic route from the bus stop and run into a wall of light and weightlessness halfway home. I grew up in a little town in the Pacific Northwest that's never been in any movies, and I hit the jackpot at seventeen years old.
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1000 WAYS TO KILL MY CHEATING HUSBAND: THE SCHIZOPHRENIA ROMANCE

1000 Ways to Kill My Cheating Husband: The Schizophrenia Romance Till death do us part. She takes that as gospel, etched into her soul. Not a promise but a command. A law. A binding truth she whispers like a prayer in the dead of night. Elizabeth doesn’t understand love, not the fragile, conditional kind that mortals speak of. But adoration? That, she knows intimately. She adores her husband with a devotion so fierce it borders on worship. She drinks in the sight of him like he’s the last drop of water in a dying world. He is hers, only hers. His laughter, his touch, his thoughts, even the breaths he takes while he sleeps beside her. She burns for him, her desire as endless as the oceans and as consuming as fire. And if another woman dares to look at him, if their gaze lingers a second too long, if they think they can taste even a crumb of what is hers, she will end it. She will end them. She will end him. Because what is hers stays hers. Forever. But here’s the twist: Phil would never betray her. Never. He loves her. But you don’t know that. You, the voices in her head, have seen the way he smiles at strangers. You’ve seen the late nights, the private phone calls, the scent of something unfamiliar that clings to him when he walks through the door. You feed her obsession. You feed her madness. And she feeds you right back. Because Elizabeth isn’t just a woman. She’s an empire. An heiress to unimaginable wealth, a daughter of power, the queen of a kingdom she can burn down with a snap of her fingers. This world bends to her will, even in her insanity. And her husband? He is bound to her by law, by blood, by destiny. Phil doesn’t know it yet, but he belongs to her. His kind eyes, his gentle hands, his foolish heart every inch of him is hers to adore, to love, to destroy. Phil’s job is simple: keep her sane or die trying. But here’s the cruel joke, he’s not just her psychiatrist. He’s in love with her. Stupidly, desperately, recklessly in love. And if he’s not careful, he might just die in love with her.
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