Historias cortas de Familial Bond y novelas con Bias ambientadas en Face Slapping

My mom, Olivia Taylor, is a selfless and devoted teacher who is admired by everyone at school. But I know better. When I apply for financial aid, she tells me that other students need the money more than I do and says I should learn to care for my classmates. When I win a writing competition, she awards the prize money to Myra Davis, the girl who has made my life a misery, and tells me not to get too full of myself. When I submit my college applications, she secretly rewrites them and offers the spot to the same girl. In the end, Myra pushes me from a rooftop. Mom says I am rotten to the core and deserve to be taught a lesson. Then she marries into Myra's family and becomes her stepmother. When I open my eyes again, I find myself reborn on the very day I apply for financial aid.

I have a bad habit. I always say I’ll do something, but whether I actually follow through is another story. When I was eight, my adoptive father stole an e-bike and told me to keep watch. I patted my chest confidently. “Don’t worry. If anyone comes, I’ll tell you!” Then I squatted by the curb and got distracted watching a trail of ants. Twenty minutes later, my adoptive father was hauled away in a police car, along with the stolen battery. Later, I was kidnapped. The trafficker told me to sit still and keep quiet. I nodded eagerly. “Okay, sir!” Then I rolled down the window and waved at everyone outside. “Hi! My uncle told me not to make any noise!” By the time we’d driven three blocks, the police had received more than a dozen calls. As the officers dragged him out of the car, the trafficker broke down. “I’ve been doing this for ten years, and I’ve never had a job go this horribly wrong!” That was how my DNA ended up in a database for missing and trafficked children. Four years later, my wealthy biological parents found me. On my first day in their mansion, the girl who had taken my place came to me holding a bracelet. “Nina, this bracelet has been in the Bennett family for generations. You’re their biological daughter, so it rightfully belongs to you.” I agreed without hesitation. “Sure. I’ll take it!” Then she ran crying into Mom’s arms and claimed I’d stolen the bracelet Grandma had left her. My brother flew into a rage and kicked open my bedroom door. “Nina Bennett! How dare you steal Fiona’s bracelet and humiliate her?” I looked up at him in confusion. “What bracelet?” “Don’t play dumb!” He was about to have my room searched when the butler rushed in. “Mrs. Bennett, this bracelet has been sitting in the foyer the whole time. One of the housekeepers nearly put it away with the costume jewelry.”

After praying to the Virgin Mary statue 100 thousand times, my younger sister, Stephanie Harvey, and I have returned to the day we're meant to get reincarnated. In our previous lifetime, Stephanie chose to reincarnate into the womb belonging to Tiara Cromwell, the richest woman in town. As for me, I could only reincarnate into the womb of Lynette Ross, a mistress, seeing as there were too many souls queuing up for their turn. Once we were born, Stephanie was pampered and doted on by Tiara, whereas I kept getting degraded and insulted because I was the child of a mistress. "You're just a lowly bitch with a mistress as your mother! You don't even have the right to lick my shoes for me!" Unexpectedly, our shitty father worked with Lynette to take over Tiara's family business. Tiara went broke overnight and fell from grace. As for me, I transformed into a proper heiress. When Stephanie saw the photos of my grand coming-of-age party on my social media feed, she came knocking on my door and pleaded for my help. "Madison, we're half-sisters, aren't we? Please help me!" I decided to give her some money, seeing as she was my sister. But Stephanie pushed me into the pool, resulting in my drowning. Now that we've both returned to the day we get reincarnated, Stephanie quickly reincarnates into Lynette's womb. I, on the other hand, choose Tiara as my mother. Later on, Stephanie sobs as she takes her own life repeatedly just so she can get another chance to start over again.

Mom was a world-class micro-expression expert. She always said no lie got past her. To replay every emotional moment of Maya and me, she packed our house with HD security cameras. When Maya scraped her knee and burst into tears, Mom called it real pain. But when stomach cramps twisted my face, she pointed at the monitor and picked me apart. "The mouth twitch. The darting eyes. Classic attention-seeking." That day, I'd accidentally eaten something I was deadly allergic to. My throat swelled shut. I could barely breathe. Panicking, I clawed at my neck and crawled to her feet, begging for help. Mom adjusted her glasses, flipped open her notebook, and calmly wrote everything down. "Rapid breathing. Bluish skin. Sophie Schneider, your acting's gotten better again. Too bad your micro-expressions gave you away." To punish me for lying to her, she shut off the house's panic button, locked the front door, and took Maya to a concert. "If you love putting on a show so much, keep performing for the cameras. We'll see how long it takes before you admit you were wrong." I curled up on the cold tile, shaking in pain, and looked at the camera's blinking red light. My vision faded. Mom, you spent your whole life reading people. But you never understood your own daughter.

Six years ago, my sister and I fell for the same man, Edmund. But he only had eyes for Rosalie, the sweet, innocent type. With them, I was always the third wheel. They got married, of course. And on their wedding day, I overheard my parents whispering. "The company's strapped for cash," my father said. "What if we marry Corinne off to our business partner? That'd solve our problem..." This "partner" was over fifty and twice divorced. So I ran. I fled to Sicily with the only five thousand dollars to my name. I ran on pure bitterness. In four years, I brought dozens of small-time Sicilian crews to heel and forged my own family: Vexille. In another two, I came back to New York and quietly became the most powerful woman in the North American underworld. By then, Edmund's power was crumbling, hit hard by a rival family. That's when my mother called, her voice full of that same old entitlement. "Your brother-in-law's in some trouble. Figure out a way to help him." Then a text from my sister, Rosalie, dripping with contempt: "Sister, I remember you have a little casino in Sicily, right? So you must know something about that Vexille family." "Edmund needs their help. See what you can dig up." They still don't know. I'm the Don of the Vexille family. I glanced at the schedule my advisor had prepared. Tomorrow, 9:00 AM. A sit-down with some minor family looking for a handout. The name on the file: Edmund.

My uncle had kidney failure, and I was a match, but I did not want to donate. I had looked it up online. Some donors ended up weak for the rest of their lives, stuck taking medication forever. I hated taking pills. Mom said that was all nonsense. A person could live perfectly fine with one kidney, she told me. It would not affect my life at all. She also said that if I did this one small favor for him, Grandma would finally love me the same way she loved my cousin. However, I did not even like my maternal grandmother. She played favorites. Grandma loved Uncle Oliver, so she loved his son more than he loved me. Every time we visited, Grandma and Grandpa fussed over my cousin and bought him all his favorite snacks while they handed me bruised apples. That was with Mom giving up most of her paycheck every month to take care of them. Still, if donating a kidney really was just a small procedure, then it was worth it to make Mom happy. I was about to sign the consent form when a wall of text appeared in front of me. [Does the main character in every second-chance story have to get screwed over and die before they grow a brain?] I would get screwed over and die? My hand froze on the pen. Another comment floated into view. [Wake up! If you donate that kidney, your health will be compromised for life. Say goodbye to every decent job. And nobody's going to thank you for it!] [And later, your mom's going to blame you for not having a good job, for not being someone she can show off to your grandma!] [She's going to clean out your savings and give it all to your uncle for some business scheme just to stay in your grandma's good graces. And when you try to get your money back? You'll be too weak to put up a fight. They'll literally beat you to death!] Mom frowned when she noticed me spacing out. "What are you dragging your feet for, Cody? I'm your mother. Would I ever set you up?"

After divorcing my cheating husband, I took my son and moved back to my mother's house. The moment we returned, my mother began to dote on my son without restraint. She would even gossip to the neighbors, saying, "Can you believe that deadweight actually gave birth to a son? Why does she get to? A disgrace who got kicked out by her husband has no right to be a boy's mother!" I knew my son could not grow up in an environment like that, so I made a firm decision to move out and raise him on my own. Years later, he graduated from college and found a job—nothing high-paying, but stable. Given the state of things, I was genuinely happy for him. He suggested going back to have a meal with his grandmother to celebrate. I never expected the two of them to join hands and poison me. As my consciousness faded, I heard their conversation. "I told you. She can't stand seeing you do well. She's elated after hearing you only make a few thousand a month!" "It's fine, Grandma. A feminazi like my mom had it coming. I've always known who's truly been good to me. From now on, I'll only take care of you." My heart turned cold. I had pushed him to study, supported him through college, and taught him to treat others with equality and respect. And this was how he repaid me. But when I opened my eyes again, I found myself back at the moment I had just returned to my mother's house with my son. 'If you're so determined to raise him your way, then fine. You can have him all to yourself. Let's see what kind of man a pick-me grandmother like you will raise.'

Dad is struck by a sudden illness, causing him to die tragically in his office. At the funeral, my younger brother, Draco Lancaster, and my mom decide to swallow rat poison just to reunite with Dad out of sorrow. Everyone says that Dad didn't dote on Draco for nothing. But on the day after the funeral, Dad's superior comes knocking on the door. Apparently, Dad has misappropriated public property, so I am to be locked up in a stockpen serving as a holding cell in order to pay off the debt on his behalf. Later on, I finally clear the debt. But that's when I see my family, who should have been dead, laughing and chatting with each other in a car. It turns out that they've faked their deaths to flee from the consequences. Unable to accept the reality, I rush over to confront them. My family, who are terrified that the truth will get out, quickly run me over with the car as a result. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day my family is about to fake their deaths.

My mother has volunteered at our neighborhood church for over a decade. Christmas drives, Sunday service, any neighbor in trouble, she's the first one there. Everyone says God sent her to us. She thinks so too. She says God wants her to be generous, so she is. The thing is, when no one's watching, the generosity always comes out of my pocket. After she remarried, she doted on my half-sister Serena. Serena picked up a box of cold medicine for her, and Mom handed Serena the keys to my Tesla. Serena mentioned she needed to renew her car insurance, and Mom wired her the surgery fund I'd been saving for two years for my daughter Emma. That afternoon, Emma collapsed on the floor, lips turning blue, gasping for air. Her medicine was crushed into the carpet. Mom fished the last pill out of her pocket and dangled it in front of me. "Apologize to your sister, and I'll give Emma the pill." I got on my knees. But that same day, she gave away the cardiology appointment I'd spent three months getting. She gave it to Serena. What she didn't know was that the name on the appointment was her own.

I have just fallen asleep after working around the clock, but my mom insists on dragging me to the supermarket first thing in the morning. Having mistaken us for sisters, the cashier compliments Mom for her youth and looks. But after Mom explains to her smilingly that we're mother and daughter, the cashier's eyes go wide in disbelief. With mixed feelings, she says, "You… You look more like the daughter, though…" That remark leaves me shell-shocked for a moment. Then, I turn around to stare at my and Mom's faces in the mirror. Mom has such smooth and supple skin that she looks like a 20-year-old college student. Meanwhile, there's me, looking like a 50-year-old hag because of the freckles and dark spots covering my face. Mom's smile vanishes instantly. "How dare you speak that way! Are you saying that my daughter looks old?" Since I don't have a good night's sleep, I become uncontrollably pissed. Just as I'm about to curse at the cashier, I catch a glimpse of the crow's feet around Mom's eyes disappearing rapidly from the corner of my eye.

The Cecil family has a century-old rule: on the day a daughter marries, her father gives her a list. It lists the names of twelve bodyguards her father has trained for her since she was a child. They will serve the bride for life as her last line of defense in her husband's household. My twin sister Valentina and I married on the same day. At the ceremony, she held the contract, which was covered in red handprints. Our father patted her shoulder. "I chose every one of them for you. If anyone mistreats my darling girl, these men will make them pay." Our mother beamed. "Valentina will always be the treasure of our family." All I received was a single flimsy, worthless sheet of paper. It didn't even bear a seal. "Father, where is my list?" His gaze darted away for a moment. Then he looked back at me, his expression brazen and self-righteous. "Your sister is marrying Don Moretti's oldest son. The Moretti family is one of Sicily's most powerful Mafia families. Of course she needs more men. "I added your twelve men to her list. She needs twenty-four guards to make sure no one looks down on the Cecil family." Our mother backed him up. "The outsider you're marrying can't even fire a gun. Why would you need bodyguards? Stop thinking only of yourself." I looked at the worthless sheet of paper and smiled bitterly. In their eyes, I was nothing more than a disposable pawn.

On the anniversary of my daughter's death, I came across an anonymous post on my way home from visiting her grave. The title read: [I Sacrificed My Own Daughter to Make It Up to My First Love.] I opened it without much thought, but my eyes stopped on the third line. "My brother-in-law is my first love. Circumstances kept us apart back then, and I always felt I owed him." "Three years ago, my daughter was hospitalized with a cold. To save my brother-in-law's daughter, who had a congenital heart condition, I deliberately fed my daughter peaches, knowing she was allergic. Then I had her heart transplanted into my niece." A shudder ran through me. My daughter died from an allergic reaction to peaches three years ago. I quickly scrolled down. The post was ten minutes old, and the IP location showed it came from my city. I immediately opened the comments. Someone challenged the poster: "How could you possibly fake a death? Do you own the hospital or something?" The poster replied instantly: "I have connections. The deputy department head on duty that night was my best friend." My hand shook, and I nearly dropped my phone. My wife, Gwen Sinclair, was best friends with the deputy head of pediatrics at Westbridge General Hospital back then.

I'm the long-lost biological son of one of the richest families in the country. The moment I step out of the train station, I spot the Ashfords waiting for me, holding a sign with my name on it. But before I can say anything, the family's adopted son, Josh Ashford, takes several frightened steps back. "Asher? Is that really you?" I stare at him, confused. I've only just arrived here, and I've never met him before. But Josh is already shaking. "Mom, Dad, it's him! He's back… He's the guy who bullied me in high school! He locked me in the equipment room, put dead rats in my backpack, and made my life so miserable I almost dropped out!" Graham Ashford's face darkens, and he looks at me with disgust. Evelyn Bennett, my biological mother, pulls Josh behind her and glares at me. "Asher, I can't believe you would do something so awful! What kind of son have we brought into this family? Apologize to Josh right now!" The reporters waiting nearby rush toward us, cameras flashing nonstop. I stand there, completely stunned. I have no idea what he's talking about. I dropped out before I even finished middle school. How can I have bullied someone in high school when I never even got in one?

Two years after I return to Cendria, I unexpectedly run into my daughter, whom my ex-wife had taken with her when she left me. "Do you regret everything you've done?" she asks, her voice dripping with arrogance. "If you apologize to my new dad, Liam, I'll try to convince Mom to forgive you." Before I can respond, an adorable little boy throws himself into my arms. "School's finally over, Dad. I missed you so much!" he exclaims. I take his hand and turn to leave. My ex-daughter is furious. "If you walk away from me now, I'll disown you!" she yells after us in frustration. I remain unbothered. She's free to do whatever she pleases. After all, none of it matters to me anymore.

My twin sister and I were supposed to celebrate our succession on the same night. Beth Moretti would inherit the family's weapons business in Naples. Her portrait towered over the banquet hall on a massive screen as the elders gathered around her, showering her with praise. Our parents, Vincent Moretti and Elena Moretti, couldn't have looked prouder. "Beth has always been exceptional. She was at the top of her class, won countless awards, and was already managing the family stables at eighteen." I stood alone in the corner, completely ignored. By the time anyone remembered me, the gala was almost over. One of the elders happened to spot me. "What about Monica? What will she be taking over?" My parents froze. For a moment, neither of them had an answer. Beth gave a small laugh. "Nothing important, I think?" Everyone laughed with her. I kept quiet. I had apparently been put in charge of the family armory, though no one had even bothered to tell me themselves. My father finally looked my way. "At least she stays out of trouble. That's good enough." Of course I stayed out of trouble. They had sent me to boarding school when I was four and left me to grow up on my own. I learned early how to take care of myself because no one else would. During school breaks, my parents would take Beth on vacation while I stayed behind. To them, I had always been the daughter they could forget. So yes, I was easy. I had learned a long time ago not to expect anything from them. After the gala, I went looking for my family. They were nowhere to be found. Then I learned they had already gone home with Beth. I took a deep breath, pulled up the Turner family's invitation from two months ago, and typed, "I accept." Then I booked the earliest flight out. This family had forgotten me for years. Now they could forget me for good.

My daughter, Amy Straker, had just turned five. To teach her about finances, I bought her a piggy bank. I told her, “You can put all the money you get on Christmas in here. We won’t touch any of it.” Amy smiled and nodded. Then, she put the money into the piggy bank one bill at a time. When I came home from work another day, Amy cried and threw a fit. She whined, “Daddy, you lied! You said you wouldn’t take my money, but my piggy bank is totally empty!” My wife, Portia Arden, and I looked at each other in dismay. We stared at our crying daughter and then at the empty piggy bank. Did someone break into our house?

As an exploration geologist, I'm caught in a landslide during a mission, and one of my arms is crushed. Before we set out, our exploration team has accurately predicted the weather. There's no chance of heavy rain that day. It isn't until I overhear my wife, Diana Nelson, talking to a doctor friend that I learn the truth. "Diana, you knew Adam was going out on a mission that day, yet you spent a fortune on creating cloud seeding just to get him injured and eventually cost him an arm. You really went too far for Flynn." Diana frowns. "Who told him to care so much about that exploration project? The only way the project can go to Flynn is if Adam gets disabled. "Otherwise, Flynn will be sent to Nambara. You think I can bear to let him suffer in a place like that?" What she doesn't know is that the Nambaran assignment will go to either Flynn Cooper or me. Before leaving, I put my medical report, which states that I've lost my reproductive ability, into a box. The day Flynn makes a name for himself, the box will be delivered to Diana as a gift.

My sister came back after being kidnapped. She had no memory of what had happened. She saw the photos on my wall and became convinced that my boyfriend, Don Colton Turner, was hers. She hid under our bed. When Colton and I started getting intimate, she crawled out and accused us of cheating on her. She pulled out a grenade and screamed, "You've betrayed me! Neither of you is walking out of here!" Just as she was about to pull the pin, my mother lunged at her, grabbed the grenade, and threw it out the window. But Beth wasn't done. She pressed a gun to her temple and threatened to kill herself. In her mind, she was Colton's Donna, while I was his secret lover. My mother rushed forward to grab the gun just as Beth pulled the trigger. My mother died on the spot. After that, Beth tried to kill herself almost every day. Colton eventually packed his bags and said wearily, "We should have slept in separate rooms. If we had, your mother would still be here. I'll take her to the house outside the city for now. Once she's stable, I'll move back. That way, she can't hurt you again." I simply nodded. Part of me was even grateful that Colton had thought everything through so carefully. Then one day, I went to a private hospital for a prenatal checkup. As I walked out with the report in my hand, I froze. My supposedly dead mother was standing there, gently stroking Beth's hair. "A healthy baby. When it's born, it'll look just like Colton." Colton laughed. "Better if it looks like Beth." My mother nodded, satisfied. "At least all that acting wasn't for nothing. Once the baby is here, I can stop worrying." The blood drained from my face as my heart pounded against my ribs. So it had all been a lie. After they left, I forced myself to calm down, walked back into the hospital, and scheduled an abortion.

While ordering food for my brother, I forgot one note, ‘no peanuts.’ My mother, Victoria Miller, bought a hundred pounds of fresh lilies and dragged them inside. I am severely allergic to pollen. She shoved me into the flower-filled room anyway and slammed the door shut behind me. "How many times must I tell you? Your brother is allergic to peanuts!" she screamed. "You left it out on purpose! What kind of monster are you? "You hate that I love him. Today, I'm curing your cruel heart!" Pollen choked the air. Thick clouds. My throat swelled instantly, cutting off my breath. My little brother, Toby Miller, rushed forward. He grabbed the handle. "Mom, I'm fine!" he sobbed. "Let her out! Please!" She didn't care. She yanked him back and turned the key. Click. "She tried to hurt you again!" her voice boomed through the wood. "Stop defending her! Today, she will learn her lesson." I slid down the cold door frame and sank into the sea of petals. To her, I was always the villain. My vision blurred. Air wouldn't come. I stopped clawing at the door and stopped begging. I collapsed onto the floor, dying among the blossoms. Mom, if the monster dies, will you finally be happy?

I drove my car to a friend's auto repair shop for a routine inspection after my father, Nathan Ashley, finally returned it. He'd borrowed it for a month and even stuffed the trunk with boxes of local specialties from his hometown. A few minutes later, my friend slid out from beneath the car, his face drained of color. "Lyla, who did you piss off? Someone cut halfway through your brake line." A chill raced through my body as I pulled out my phone and called my father. "Dad, someone cut my brake line." The sound of poker chips clacking echoed through the phone. He answered without the slightest concern, "Oh. I had Lillian do it. That old junker of yours was falling apart anyway." My voice trembled. "Why? Do you have any idea that could've killed someone?" His tone stayed perfectly calm. "Lillian's dating a guy from the city. His family wants an $80,000 dowry. Where am I supposed to come up with that kind of money? "Doesn't your company pay for one of those accident insurance policies? I heard it pays out up to a million. "I only told Lillian to cut the brake line a little. It wasn't going to kill you. That insurance payout would've made the perfect dowry for her."