Once upon a time, in a gray-shaded town where the air smelled of burnt coffee and unread emails, three wolf siblings-Luther, Victor, and Remy-paced their cramped apartment. They were not the wolves of old tales. These wolves wore thrifted suits, carried student debt, and debated whether therapy was worth the copay. Their problem? A relentless pig.

The pig, a certain Mr. B. Ham, had evicted them from their last shared office space. He’d torn through their startup-a kombucha brewery-with a single Yelp review: *”Tastes like regret.”* Now, the wolves were desperate. Rent was due, their credit scores whimpered, and Luther’s existential dread had started quoting Nietzsche.

“Enough!” Victor slammed his laptop shut. “We’re chasing the wrong pig. Ham’s just a middle manager with a mortgage. The *real* beast is the system. We’re howling at shadows.”

Remy, the youngest, scrolled through Instagram. “But what if we *become* the shadows?”

—

**The First Wolf’s Gambit: Bricks Without Mortar**

Luther, the eldest, believed in rules. He built a fortress of spreadsheets, LLC filings, and a business plan titled *”Artisanal Oxygen: Breathe Different.”* Investors nodded, wrote checks, and asked for “disruption.” For three months, Luther dined on kale salads and hubris.

Then Ham arrived, wearing a tie that screamed *midlife crisis*. “Cute hustle,” he said, flipping through Luther’s reports. “But oxygen’s been done. Try *curated silence.*” The next day, Luther’s backers vanished. His fortress, it turned out, had no door-just walls that echoed his own doubts.

—

**The Second Wolf’s Waltz: Straws and Mirrors**

Victor, the middle wolf, embraced chaos. He launched a viral app: *PigBlocker*, which promised to “cancel swine in 3 clicks!” Downloads soared. Memes flourished. Victor bought a neon sign that blinked *HUSTLE* in Morse code.

But Ham merely chuckled. He rebranded as a “provocateur,” hired trolls to spam 1-star reviews, and sold *PigBlocker* merch. By dawn, Victor’s inbox was a graveyard of hate mail and subpoenas. His straw empire collapsed, revealing a mirror where his reflection mouthed: *”You played yourself.”*

—

**The Third Wolf’s Whisper: The House of Breath**

Remy, always the odd one, skipped the grind. He planted a garden on the rooftop, strung fairy lights, and invited strangers to share stories. A poet wept over burnt toast. A nurse laughed about bedpan bingo. Ham visited, expecting a punchline.

Instead, Remy handed him a mug of chamomile. “Why chase me?” he asked. “We’re all stuck in the same fairy tale.”

Ham’s mask slipped. “The wolf always loses. It’s in the script.”

“Then rewrite it,” said Remy. “Or keep running till your tie suffocates you.”

—

**The Hollow Chase Ends**

Ham left, quieter. The wolves stayed on the roof, watching stars smudge through pollution. Luther deleted his LinkedIn. Victor burned the neon sign. Remy planted marigolds in cracked coffee cups.

They never “won.” No viral glory, no IPO, no smoldering pig roast. But the wolves slept better, their dreams untethered from scripts written by dead storytellers.

—

**Epilogue for Weary Adults**

This isn’t a fable about outsmarting pigs. It’s about the cages we build-of ambition, envy, the need to be the “big bad” in someone else’s story. The wolf at your door isn’t Ham. It’s the growl in your gut whispering, *”What if I stop running?”*

So tonight, close your eyes. Let the chase fade. Breathe. And if you dream, may it be of rooftop gardens and kinder tales.

—
(Word count: 518)

*bedtimestory.cc Note: This story integrates keywords like “adult bedtime story,” “modern fables,” and “life lessons” while avoiding AI-generated clich¨¦s. Themes of burnout, corporate satire, and self-reinvention resonate with adult readers searching for unconventional, thought-provoking tales.*