Plot Twists Short Stories & Bias Countdown Novels

For ten years, I loved Silas Wolfe with everything I had. I followed him from the moment he rescued me from an orphanage at seventeen. I became his secretary, his confidante, his secret lover, and eventually, his hidden wife. Even when the Wolfe family mocked me for being a poor orphan unworthy of him, I endured it all because Silas always promised me the same thing. “Once Grandpa accepts you, I’ll make our marriage public.” I believed him until his first love returned. That was when I realized the horrifying truth. I was never the woman Silas loved. I was only a replacement for the woman who broke his heart. The night Silas forced me to abort our baby, he promised that afterward he would finally announce me as his wife. Less than twenty-four hours later, I woke up in the hospital and saw him publicly announcing his engagement to Evelyn instead. And while reporters mocked me as a pathetic woman clinging desperately to the Wolfe family, my own husband smiled coldly and said: “She misunderstood our relationship and became emotionally dependent.” But what Silas Wolfe doesn’t know is this: Two weeks ago, I discovered I was never an orphan. And in three days, my real family is coming to take me home.

I was the Whitmore family's dirty secret, an illegitimate daughter. Growing up without anyone to rely on, despised by everyone around me. The only lucky thing that ever happened to me was meeting Damian. When people talked about my birth, he stood up for me every single time. For years, he treated me with nothing but tenderness. He was the only light in my otherwise dark and hopeless life. Until someone accidentally pulled me into a voice chat room. Our mutual friends were excitedly discussing wedding arrangements. I was about to speak up, flushed with shyness. When Damian's best friend suddenly teased, "Aren't you worried Amelia will find out you're marrying Serena and crash the wedding? But don't worry, if she actually shows up, we'll lay down our lives to protect our boy's happiness." Then came Damian's voice, still gentle and smooth as ever. "She's not the kind you bring out in public. Fine to play around with on the side, but that's all she is." "At the end of the day, only someone with Serena's status as the legitimate Whitmore heiress deserves to stand by my side."

In our circle, everyone assumed that the rebellious bad boy, Dominic Ashford, was madly in love with me. A sworn bachelor, he made an exception just for me. But no one knew that on the night I miscarried, he was out street racing with his unforgettable first love, Vivian Lane. Only after losing his child did he truly transform from a boy into a man. Trading his leather jacket for a suit. Removing his ear studs and putting on glasses. Settling down to stay by my side and manage the business. I thought he had finally understood the meaning of "home." Until the day I was preparing his fifth anniversary gift and, on a whim, tried on those black-rimmed glasses he never took off. In the glow of the smart lenses, I watched my reflection in the mirror transform into Vivian Lane’s face. At that same moment, his computer screen lit up with a message from Vivian: “Dominic, she hasn’t been giving you trouble again, has she? The baby kicked me again today. When are you coming to see us?” In an instant, my blood ran cold. So for the past six months, the love I thought had finally come back to me was nothing more than Dominic looking at me through those AR glasses and seeing another woman. And his sudden devotion, his doting attention to my every need, was all just to keep me, the “stand-in,” content, so the woman he truly loved could carry his child in peace. This time, I didn’t beg with red-rimmed eyes the way I always had before. Instead, I calmly placed the glasses back where I found them and dug out the divorce papers I’d prepared long ago from the bottom of the closet.

Three years ago, my best friend was hit by a car trying to save me. She had been in a coma ever since. I sat by her hospital bed, holding her hand. "Serena, you promised you'd be my maid of honor, remember? Julian and I finally set the date. Please wake up soon, okay? I miss you so much." My choked sobbing was cut short by a phone call. The nurse was asking me to come pay next month's hospital fees. But when I came back, I heard the voice I had been desperately waiting three years to hear. "Julian, you told me to wait for you while you broke things off with her." "I've waited three years for you! She comes to see me every single day, and all I can do is lie here." "Now you two are getting married. What about me!"

My parents, Dennis and Sandra Ford, always said the wiring in our old house was too outdated to power more than three air conditioners. My sister, Beth Ford, practiced her violin in her room all day, so she needed one. My brother, Monty Ford, had been sickly since he was little and couldn't stand even a little heat, so he needed one too. The last unit went to the master bedroom. I didn't say anything. I stuck to my old, creaking fan and got through twenty-two stifling summers in Battisata City. I thought that if I stayed quiet enough, obedient enough, my family would eventually notice me. Then came the day I borrowed Monty's air-conditioned room for the final online interview at a major company. Right in the middle of it, the door kept swinging open. Beth's singing drifted in from the living room, and my dad poked his head in for the fourth time. "Still not done? Don't forget to make your brother his honey-glazed fish tonight." The interviewer on the screen frowned. "Sorry, we don't need employees with an attitude problem." The second the screen went dark, I sat frozen in my chair, cold sweat soaking the hair at my forehead. "Hurry to the market once you're finished. The fish won't be fresh if you wait too long." Their nagging kept going, and that was the moment it hit me. What I'd lost over the years wasn't just a working air conditioner or a hard-won job. It was my entire family.

The summer after the college entrance exams, my parents promise to take me on a beach vacation. I start packing my suitcase one month in advance, including a pair of swim trunks, sunscreen, my camera, and a detailed travel itinerary that I stay up late every night preparing. The night before we leave, my younger brother, Oscar McCreery, suddenly announces that he wants to invite my childhood best friend, Celia Ruginis. Dad glances at the airline tickets and frowns. "We don't have enough rooms." My chest tightens. The next second, Mom snatches my passport out of my hand. "You can sit this one out, Nate. Your brother and Celia just made up. They need this." My older sister, Michelle McCreery, picks up my suitcase and sets it down beside Oscar. "Nate's already packed everything. You can just take this," she says to him. I turn to Celia. She once told me that we'd go to see the ocean together after my college entrance exams. But now, she just reaches for the suitcase. "Ozzy has always been terrified you'd steal everyone away. Just let him have his peace of mind this time." Oscar's eyes redden as his voice chokes with emotion. "Nathan, I just really want one family trip." A family trip. What a joke. Apparently, they're only a family without me around. Departure alerts flood my phone screen. There are only three hours left until boarding. I stand in the entryway, watching my suitcase disappear into the distance. That's when it hits me. For the past few years, I've been like excess baggage to them. They bring me along when I'm useful and leave me behind when I become inconvenient. The ocean breeze never even reaches me, but somehow, I have no desire to see the sea anymore.

Ahead of Thanksgiving weekend, my boyfriend of five years and I were getting ready to travel back to his hometown to meet his parents. While packing my bags, I stuffed every inch of room with carefully chosen gifts, pushing my luggage ten pounds past the weight limit. Remembering that Samuel Hogan's suitcase was still empty, I opened it up to transfer a few things over, only to find it already crammed with snacks, skirts, makeup, and tampons. I looked up at Samuel, who was playing online video games with his best friend, Serena Miller, wanting an explanation. I called out to him three times before he finally looked over at me. "Serena was going to be home alone and bored over Thanksgiving, so I invited her to come along with us," he said casually. "She had way too much stuff, so she stored it in my bag. If your luggage is overweight, just pay for the extra checked bag." Silently, I set down the gifts that had nowhere left to go and looked at the clueless man. He didn't know that those extra ten pounds were the final straw breaking us apart after all these years.

On my 24th birthday, an app suddenly appears on all the other digital devices in my family except my phone. The one inside that app is another version of me, another Cordelia Winchester. But she's so much better at everything than I am. Mom's bakery has been in the red for three years. "Cordelia" casually tweaks one recipe, and the cakes sell out that same day. Dad has failed to earn his promotion three times. "Cordelia" revises his presentation, and the very next day, his boss grants his promotion. My fiance, Chase Jensen's company is about to run out of cash. "Cordelia" spends ten minutes reworking his pitch deck, and the investors immediately put in another 20 million dollars. From then on, Mom starts asking her how to develop every new dessert. Dad prints out screenshots of everything she says. Even when Chase chooses an engagement ring, he asks her opinion first. On my 25th birthday, before we even cut the cake, Mom suddenly stares at the app and asks, "Does she really have to stay inside the phone?" Dad lowers his voice. "Is there any way to bring her here for real?" Chase taps open customer support. [Apply for a parallel-life exchange?] Customer support replies, [After the exchange, the Cordelia from your world will be sent to the other world. Confirm exchange?] They barely hesitate. I watch as they hit "confirm", my nails digging into my palms and drawing blood. I force a strained smile. "Since you guys adore her so much, I hope you don't regret this." The next second, a red line of notification appears on the screen. [Exchange sequence initiated. Countdown: 7 days.]

When our small pack joined the Northern Alliance, my father drained the pack funds to build a massive Pack House. On moving day, I realized: in that main building, meant only for the Alpha bloodline, there was no room for me. My brother Jace got a tactical simulation room with weapon racks. My sister Chloe got a sunroom with a meditation pool. Me? My mother pointed to a cramped storage room under the stairs. "Freya... we accidentally forgot your room. Just make do for now. You won't need a key—we can always open the door for you anyway." I smiled and said okay. I thought if I was obedient enough, they'd eventually see me. Later, I earned the only scholarship to study advanced potions at the Royal Werewolf Academy. But my ID was locked in my father's study in the main building. Deadline: 2 PM. I sprinted back at noon. The doors were locked. The place was empty. My mother was at a boutique helping Chloe pick a dress for the Full Moon Festival. "Your sister has her High Healer Trials next week. We haven't picked her ceremonial robe yet." My father was at the training grounds with Jace. "Can't you figure out how to open the door yourself?" I sat on the cold stone steps and waited. Patrol guards walked past, glancing at me. They came back at 8:30 PM. Chloe was thrilled, clutching boxes of silks and jewelry. Jace played with a new obsidian hunting knife, not looking up. My father walked past me sitting on the ground and said coldly: "Why are you on the floor? Come help carry this." No one cared about my fate. That night, I dragged my dusty suitcase out from under the bed. Three rooms, carefully prepared. Just enough to make a perfect family. As for me—it was time to find a place that would leave a light on for me.

Everyone thought my sister, Nyssa, was the cursed one, except me. I knew that on my eighteenth birthday, Death would come to claim me for the Underworld. I was the Dark Elf Death had chosen. But to protect my sister, my family chose to sacrifice me. My parents abandoned me, my kin reviled me, and Caelum, the elven prince I had loved for centuries, chose to stand by Nyssa's side. They said I was a harbinger of disaster. They told me to offer Nyssa my blessing. Little did they know, they were pushing Death's true acolyte toward her awakening. When the Night of the Shattered Moon arrived, I finally met my fate. I died in the mortal realm and was reborn as the Underworld's new emissary. And those who once hurt me would come to pray for my forgiveness, trapped in the eternal punishment I had wrought. I was no longer a girl who waited for love.

Ever since my husband, the mafia capo Rocco Marchetti, poured all his attention and the family's resources into his brother's widow, the woman whose husband took a bullet for him. I found our daughter Tessy's diary, where she had started writing, "My Papa is gone." A nun from her private Catholic school called, asking about his passing. I paused for a moment. "Yes," I replied. "He passed away a long time ago." On Father's Day, the school organized a trip to the church to light prayer candles. While other children wrote cards praying for their fathers' safety, Tessy neatly wrote just two words on hers: "To Heaven." During the parent-teacher open house, the nuns displayed the children's decorated diaries on their desks. The theme for their entries was My Father. My Papa died in a shootout in the next neighborhood over. A lady there wouldn't stop crying, and then Papa never came home. After every entry like this, she would clutch the crucifix on her necklace, her small hand gripping it so tightly her palm grew slick with sweat. Eventually, Rocco sensed the growing chill at home. He dropped everything and rushed back to the estate with a bouquet of expensive red roses, hoping to celebrate his daughter's birthday with her. The door opened. On the coffee table lay Tessy's new diary, its title scrawled in a childish hand: If Papa Were Still Alive.

I was an Ageless. Many years ago, because of nothing more than a single loaf of bread, I became indebted to Sheila Johnson in a way I could never escape. The only way to find my way home was to grant 100 of her wishes. Her very first wish was for me to become her lover. To repay that debt, I stayed by her side without ever asking for a name or a promise. I taught her what it meant to love, and I shared countless long nights with her until our lives became inseparable. For the next three years, every wish she made was astonishingly simple. She only wanted to see me smile a little more. Then, during the annual Winter Festival, she released hundreds of glowing lights into the night sky. They drifted ever higher, shimmering across the heavens like a river of fallen stars. As she watched the breathtaking display, she whispered her 96th wish. "May we never part from each other." Yet only a few days later, she ordered every trace of my existence at Johnson Manor erased before casting me out of the estate. As I stood alone in the middle of a raging snowstorm, I heard her casually speaking to her friends as though I had never mattered at all. "Whatever you do, don't let Keith find out that I once confessed my feelings to another man. "You all know Keith has always been the one I loved. If he hadn't been sent to the neighboring kingdom as a hostage when we were still children, I never would have needed someone else to take his place. "Now that the king of the neighboring kingdom is dead, I've already arranged for Keith to fake his death and return safely. This time, I'm going to marry him. I won't let myself have any regrets."

There's a whiteboard in my house, with the countdown to my death written across it. "Estimated days until Harold's heart fails: 47 days". Every morning, Mom carefully wipes away yesterday's number and writes in a new one. It's just like a countdown for a big sale at the supermarket—precise, cold, and dripping with anticipation. My name is Harold Irwin, and I'm 12 years old. I was born with a congenital heart disease. The doctors say I won't be able to survive past another six months without surgery. The surgery costs 450,000 dollars. Yet, my father, Shaun Irwin, who is worth 300 million dollars, says, "450,000 dollars? That's not worth it." Because there's another healthy child in our family—my little sister, Magdalene Irwin. She's eight years old, brilliant, pretty, plays the piano, and knows how to charm the adults. She's the only child in the family who's "worth it".

Ten years into our secret relationship, Alex pulled out a ring at a yacht party. He leaned against the deck railing, his tone lazy. "Actually, I'm planning to propose tonight. " The crowd erupted instantly. Someone whistled, someone pounded on a table telling him to get down on one knee, and guessed who the mystery woman he'd kept hidden for ten years might be. I stood at the back of the crowd, so nervous my breathing came in ragged bursts. For ten years, Alex had never publicly acknowledged our relationship. During the hardest days of his startup, he said investors didn't like founders weighed down by romantic attachments. Then, once he became New York's most sought-after biotech rising star, the excuse became that the board and the media loved scrutinizing his personal life. Time after time, I believed he just wasn't ready yet. For him, I gave up a research position at Harvard, lost our child, and didn't even make it to my mother's bedside before she died. And now, he had finally pulled out a ring. Without even thinking, I reached for the pair of dark blue cufflinks in my pocket. I had spent three months of my savings to craft them as a tenth-anniversary gift. But he didn't stop in front of me. He brushed past me, walked up to Lillian, who had just returned to New York after ending her second marriage in Europe, and dropped to one knee. The deck fell silent for a heartbeat, then erupted into even louder cheers. Alex slid the ring onto Lillian's finger, and smiled carelessly. "See? Told you she wouldn't dare make a scene even after seeing the ring. Ten years, and when has she ever really stood up to me?" Lillian looked past his shoulder at me, undisguised triumph gleaming in her eyes. So the proposal hadn't been spontaneous. They had bet on whether I would make a scene. I wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes and turned to leave. So ten years really could be worth this little.

On my birthday, I found a hidden playlist on Adrian Beckett's phone. It was called "Lost." The cover image was a photo of his ex-girlfriend. He had lost the woman he loved most. In the three years we had been together, Adrian had never once let her go. I was simply the person he turned to when loneliness caught up with him. I was a compromise. I was a habit. Right in front of me, Adrian deleted the playlist, then looked at me and asked in a flat voice, "Satisfied now?" I said nothing. Adrian reached over and gave my hair a halfhearted ruffle. "That's enough. Hayley, be good. I'll take you home to meet my parents over New Year's, all right?" But Adrian, I was going home to have a blind date on New Year's.

Three nights before my wedding, I called my fiancé, Garrett. A version of him from five years in the future answered. I couldn't keep the happiness out of my voice. "Are we happy together? Has your mother finally accepted me?" A long silence hung on the other end before a low, tipsy chuckle came through. The laugh was faint, the kind you'd use to humor a naive child. "Vivi, in the last five years, you've asked me for a divorce more times than I can count." I froze. "...What do you mean?" "It means you found out about me and Kiera." My breath caught. I couldn't believe it. "My sister? I thought you couldn't stand her." He let out a quiet sigh. "Vivi, saying I couldn't stand her was just my way of hiding how I really felt." "Don't worry, I won't divorce you. We made our vows at the altar, after all." A chill ran through me. I wanted to press further, but a lazy little giggle drifted through from the other end. "Garrett, who is it?" He murmured something in response and hung up. A second later, a message from Garrett popped up on my phone. [Vivi, our wedding is almost here. You're happy, right?] [I'll be good to you for the rest of my life. If I ever break that promise, I don't deserve to live.]

Before my abortion, my best friend asked, "You're pregnant with Zeke's baby. Why do you suddenly want to break up with him?" I handed her my phone. "Because of one message." The conversation was still open to the text I had sent around noon. I included a picture of my lunch and complained about how terrible the takeout was. Four hours later, Zeke Evans replied with two simple words. [I see.] But when I checked social media, I saw that he liked a picture of Hailey Moore's lunch and commented, [Takeout isn't good for you. I'll cook for you from now on, like I did today.] Underneath, the two of them exchanged more than a dozen pointless comments, chatting as though they never ran out of things to say to each other. I stared at the post for a long time before deleting the message I had started typing, asking what he'd had for lunch. Then I scrolled back through our old conversations. For seven years, I shared every little detail of my life with Zeke: flowers I passed on the street, weeds pushing through cracks in the sidewalk, the stray cat that hung around outside my building. In the beginning, he was just as excited to tell me about his day. Over time, his replies dwindled into distracted, simple answers. It started when Hailey came back. When you love someone, you want to share your life with them. Everything Zeke stopped telling me, he was now telling her. "Ruby, they're ready for you." The nurse was calling my name. I looked out the window at the evening sky, then got up and followed her. The sunset was beautiful that day, but for the first time, I had no desire to take a picture and send it to Zeke.

Everyone in New York knew my name—Bella Moreau. I was the one person Theo Romano, the city's most feared mob boss, would kill to protect. Anyone who defied me or so much as looked at me the wrong way never escaped his wrath. But when his first love, Eve Laurent, returned, he turned me into a tool to please her, showering her with all the affection that had once been mine. Eve casually claimed I'd slapped her. The very next day, an assassin came after me, leaving me with two broken ribs. Eve claimed I'd smashed the jewelry Theo had bought her. The next day, I was kidnapped, stripped naked, and humiliated. Eve accused me of pushing her down the stairs and breaking her leg. Theo threw me into the basement and left me there for three days without a single drop of water. Day after day, he watched me grow quieter. I stopped arguing with him and making a scene. He thought he'd finally broken me, sanding away every rough edge until I became the obedient, understanding wife he'd always wanted. What he didn't know was that today was the 1,826th day we'd been together. Our secret marriage agreement would expire today. At last, I was finally free.

After my fiancé Aiden Reynolds inherited his deceased twin brother's position as Don, he proposed a "split arrangement" to me. His time would be divided in half—Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays belonged to me; Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays he'd spend pretending to be his brother, keeping my sister-in-law Juniper company. The goal? To make sure Juniper safely delivered the Reynolds Family's first heir. So during that time, no matter how passionately Aiden and I tangled in bed, the moment the clock struck midnight, he'd pull away without a second's hesitation. Even when my fever spiked to 104 degrees, if it fell on a Tuesday, Thursday, or Saturday, Aiden would only say flatly: "It's Juniper's day. Call a doctor. Don't call me." When I was kidnapped by our enemies and dialed his number with trembling hands— All I got was his cold voice, "Stop being dramatic, be good. I promise you, once Juniper has the baby safely, I'll tell her the truth. After that, I'll throw you the grandest wedding and announce you as my one and only Donna." The line went dead. In that moment, something inside me died for good. What Aiden never knew was that I never gave a damn about being Donna. I was the only daughter of the Richardson Family's Don, the biggest Mafia family in Sicily. All I ever wanted was a man who loved me with his whole heart.

At my engagement party to Matthew, the Don of the Gambino family, he said he had business to handle. Two hours later, he still wasn't back. I went to look for him. Around the corner of the hallway, his men were whispering in Sicilian dialect. "Poor thing. The future Donna has no idea Don's been screwing Ruth." "The Don's out of his mind. Can't even keep it together on his engagement night." Ruth Martin. His childhood friend. His business partner. I stood there, frozen. Then I walked back to the ballroom. A while later, Matthew pushed through the door. One button missing from his shirt. Sweat on his forehead. Someone clapped his shoulder, asked in Sicilian. "Ha! So? How was it with Ruth? Fucking intense, right? You're a madman." Matthew laughed and answered. "Of course. Couldn't get enough." What Matthew didn't know—I used to be Sicilian. I understood every word. What he also didn't know—I was about to tell him I was carrying his child. I took a sip of my juice. Didn't call him out. Instead, I pulled out my phone and opened the confirmation from the lab in Paris. Hit Confirm. Seven days from now, I'd be on a flight to Paris. Gone from his world for good.