Contos sobre Feel-Good Story e Romances com Bias e Face Slapping

After my sister-in-law Lydia had my brother Caleb's kidney removed and spent three years draining his blood, he escaped back to our hometown barely alive. He lay on a bed at the clinic, holding my hand tight as he said, "Noah, don't go after them. You can't afford to cross Lydia's family." Three days later, he died in my arms. I buried him on the hillside behind the town, under the old oak tree he had loved to climb as a child. On the seventh day after I buried him, a black Maybach stopped at the edge of town. Lydia got out with a frail man who looked like he could fall over at any time. She stood outside my house's door and looked at me. "Noah, where's your brother? Tell him to come out. Evan needs bone marrow this time." I wiped the dirt from my hands and raised my head as I smiled. "You want to find Caleb, right? Then start digging."

When I got into a car accident, my wife was busy taking care of her first love. As I lay dying, I begged her for help, but she just sneered coldly. "Serves you right for getting hit. You wouldn't even lend Dustin the money for his treatment." I'd explained it to her so many times. Dustin Graeme was a gambling addict—his "illness" was just an excuse to fund his habit. But she never believed me. "Cut the crap, Jim," she said. "If you don't hand over the money in three days, we're done. A selfish, heartless man like you doesn't deserve a wife." Lying in a pool of blood, I slowly curled my lips into a smile. "Fine. Let's get a divorce. I don't want a woman like you either."

My Black Friday live stream has pulled in over 500 million dollars. But on payday, my wife, Amber Shepherd, transfers every cent of my commission to her personal trainer, Darwin Whitley. Then, she tosses a voucher for an adult toy store at my feet. "There's your bonus. Throw in a little of your own cash, and it should cover a blow-up doll." Darwin slides an arm around Amber's waist and says provocatively, "That brand makes great condoms. Amber and I tried them out last night. You should check out their other stuff." I lose it and shout, "Amber Shepherd! My mom is in end-stage liver failure! That money was supposed to pay for her transplant! What the hell am I going to do with a voucher?" Amber just snuggles closer to Darwin and sneers at me. "A transplant? What are the odds of success? Why throw good money down the drain? Anyway, I've already cashed out the commission. Take the voucher and go play with yourself." Suddenly, a strange calm washes over me. She thinks she just won everything. She has no idea I still hold the exclusive contracts for every single supplier. I open the supplier backend management portal and blast a message to every group chat. "All partnerships are terminated effectively immediately. Contract termination fees will be billed to the signing parties."

Mom has picked two potential brides for my younger brother, Elliot Wilson, and me. One is Sarah Hawkins, a wealthy heiress whose eyes never leave Elliot. I'm left with Melissa Wright, a daughter from a family of scholars. She's blind and confined to a wheelchair. I don't look down on her. Instead, I take her to see every specialist I can find. For that, I spend all my savings and continue working hard to support her. Every doctor says there is nothing physically wrong with her legs, suggesting that it might be psychological. So, I take Melissa to the beach to feel the ocean breeze. I take her traveling, letting her experience the rivers and the warmth of spring. Then, Elliot and I get abducted. When a kidnapper is about to stab Elliot in the chest, Melissa suddenly sprints forward. She grabs me and shoves me directly in front of Elliot. I watch in horror as the knife pierces my heart. Behind her, a crowd of bodyguards calls her "Ms. Wright" respectfully. That's when I realize she isn't paralyzed, she isn't blind, and she isn't from some modest family of scholars. She just doesn't want to stand by my side or even have me in her sight. "I'm sorry. My family is the richest in town. My dad wanted me to fake it to test your character. You passed, but I just can't love you. Even if Elliot didn't choose me, I couldn't let him die. I'll make it up to you in another life." When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day Mom is choosing our brides.

My mother, Eleanor Thorne, dropped out of school at a young age to work, single-handedly raising my uncle, Logan Thorne, all on her own. Because of that bond, right before she passed away from a severe illness, she tightly held Logan’s hand and entrusted me to his care, begging him to look after me. With bloodshot eyes, Uncle Logan swore right beside her hospital bed that he would never let a single soul lay a finger on me for the rest of his life. When I was seven years old, my biological father, Richard Jennings, was preparing to remarry, and he muttered a cruel comment under his breath, calling me a piece of useless baggage. The next second, Logan smashed a glass bottle right over his head. "Who the hell do you think you are, talking to my little girl like that?" he roared. "Keep running your mouth, and I will personally ruin you!" Before his head wounds could even fully heal, Richard literally checked himself out of the hospital and fled the city, never daring to show his face around us again. During my high school years, a boy cornered me on the way home to force a love letter into my hands, which completely terrified me. Logan flew into an absolute rage. That very afternoon, he brought a crew and broke the boy's leg. That act invited a violent retaliation. Logan was targeted in a brutal hit-and-run and left for dead on the asphalt. He spent three grueling days fighting for his life in the ICU before the doctors finally pulled him back from the brink. Yet, the exact moment he was discharged from the hospital, he tracked that student down again and beat him within an inch of his life. I was utterly horrified. Desperate to prevent my uncle from hurting anyone else on my account, I, Maisie Thorne, secretly applied to a university overseas without telling him, leaving the country for three long years. On the eve of Logan’s wedding, he personally flew out on a private jet to pick me up and bring me back home. That night, we sat down to have a quiet dinner together. But the night took a twisted turn when his fiancée mistook me for a hidden mistress. "So, you're the little obsession my husband can't seem to stop thinking about," Victoria Vane sneered, glaring at me. "I’ve heard all about the mysterious girl locked away in his private thoughts. Let's see how much sleeping around you can do once I strip that pretty little face right off your head, Maisie Thorne!"

Nicholas Jordan, my fiance, throws a bachelor party three days before our wedding. It is then that his best friend, Clara Gunter, rushes over in a panic, yelling, "You can't marry her, Nicholas!" The people around Nicholas look completely confused. Clara gasps for air before snatching Nicholas' glass and downing its contents. "You said your fiancee has a mysterious background, but I asked my uncle to look into her, and I found out she's a gold digger who cons people into marriage! She has been married thrice and has slept with three other people. "You'd better not behave like a fool and take responsibility for someone else's discarded baggage, Nicholas!" Nicholas' expression shifts for a split second, but he still tries to defend me. "There are so many people with the same name, so it's definitely not my Lillian!" Clara pulls him close against her chest and asks coldly, "Has she brainwashed you? There are only two people by the name of Lillian Naughton around here—one is a gold digger, and the other is the billionaire heiress of the Naughton family. "Do you really think your freeloading fiancee could possibly be the latter one?" I merely sneer at Clara's false accusations. From this moment on, nobody from Gunter Group is ever setting foot inside any retail counter owned by Naughton Group.

After the College Entrance Assessment ends, Chayce Clarkson, the younger brother I have raised for seven years, looks me in the eye and says calmly, "I turned in blank exam papers." I instantly freeze, unable to utter even a single word. A look of vengeful satisfaction flashes across his face as he delivers his next blow. "Jill and I never broke up, either. And it's for her that I didn't write a single word in the exams. She's not book-smart, so she won't be able to get into a decent college. I've already promised her that I'll spend the next four years just playing around with her." My heart shatters into a thousand pieces, but he clearly doesn't believe that he's done anything wrong. He meets my gaze without guilt, and his expression remains cold. "Either way, the exam is over now. If you accept my relationship with Jill, I'll still consider you my sister. If not, we'll sever ties right here, right now." His eyes drift to my trembling hands. After a slight pause, he adds, "But if you still want me as your brother, that's fine too. Just give Jill every dollar you've earned over the past seven years. Consider it your 'welcome-to-the-family' gift to her."

I am finally pregnant with a child after being married to Anthony Johnson, my husband, who has azoospermia, for five years. Emily Johnson, my 30-year-old unemployed sister-in-law who lives off her family, tears the ultrasound scan apart and angrily accuses me of carrying someone else's baby. She then takes out a notebook packed with detailed records of every time Anthony and I have slept together since we got married. "In the past three months, the only time you slept with Anthony was three weeks ago; other than that, he never laid a finger on you! If you're over a month pregnant, then there's no way that baby belongs to the Johnson family!" I feel incredibly angry at the thought of being eavesdropped on all this time, so I seek out Anthony and demand an explanation. He merely looks at me with a pained expression and says, "You should just produce the evidence if you're innocent, Madison—just like Emily did." I laugh out of sheer exasperation. If they want evidence, then the baby I'm carrying is the best evidence there is.

My girlfriend, Selena Jenkins, and I are committed to a strict 50-50 relationship. We are three years into our relationship, and we split everything down to a single bottle of water. Then, out of nowhere, I get a call from a kidnapper. "We have your girlfriend. Have 150 thousand dollars ready, or she dies!" I calmly launch our app, SplitMate. According to the algorithm, this unexpected incident falls under "shared risk", meaning she is responsible for 50% of the cost. However, after factoring in the personal insurance policy I took out on her behalf, she only needs to pay 35,550 dollars. I send the calculation results to the kidnapper. "This is her share. Please contact her family for the payment. I'm only responsible for my own portion." The line goes silent. A few minutes later, I receive a livestream link. The livestream shows Selena tied to a chair, smiling at her phone. The live chat in front of her is blowing up. "Holy shit! This guy's a monster. This is the craziest livestream I've seen all year!" Later on, she follows the 50-50 rule to a T, but I'm no longer on board with it.

My father is one of the wealthiest men in the country, a name everyone knows but almost never sees. My mother is the devoted wife standing behind him, the one who actually raises me. She always tells me my father looks down on us for being country people, that he calls us ungrateful dogs who can never be won over no matter how well they're fed. He sends me only 200 dollars a month for me to live on. I hate him for it. Then one day he shows up at my university without warning. He points at the tray in front of me and frowns. "I send you 50,000 dollars a month, and this is what you eat?"

The day my wealthy biological parents finally took me home, my eight godmothers stood at the gate with tears in their eyes as they watched me leave. I had barely been back for two days when everything changed. It was all because I scored one hundred points higher than the fake heir on our final exam mock test. My own parents took me to an underground black market hospital. They were going to cut out my brain and transplant it into the fake heir. "You've already taken Braxton's place as the center of the family," my mother said coldly. "Giving him your brilliant brain is the least you can do to make it up to him." "Don't worry," my father added with a smile. "We'll find you an ordinary brain afterward. We'll take care of you for the rest of your life." Braxton grinned as he leaned close. "Let me tell you a little secret. I bribed the surgeon. The brain they're putting in your head belongs to an idiot. "Your life is over." I struggled with everything I had, refusing to give up. Then they dragged me out of the car. The moment I looked up at the building, I almost laughed. Was this not the hospital owned by my eight godmothers? When I left home, my eldest godmother — the CEO — had sent me off with red-rimmed eyes. She vowed back then, "If anyone in the Long family dares lay a finger on you, I'll bankrupt them before they know what hit them." My second godmother, a renowned surgeon, had said nothing at all. She had simply continued wiping down her scalpel. It seemed like Braxton and the Long family had walked straight into a trap they would never escape from.

The day my rich parents come to claim me, all eight of my godfathers weep while sending me off. But just two days later, because I score a whole hundred points higher than the fake heiress, Sharon Staton, on a mock exam, my parents drag me to some black-market underground hospital. They want to dig out my brain and transplant it into Sharon. "With your return, Sharon is no longer the only princess in our family. Giving her your smart brain is the least you can do to make it up to her." "Relax, we'll have them put an ordinary brain in you afterward. We'll care for you for the rest of your life!" Sharon giggles and says, "I'll let you in on a little secret. I already bribed the doctor. The brain they're putting in you belongs to an idiot. You're done for." I struggle with everything I have. Then, the second I'm dragged out of the car, I can't help feeling amused. Isn't this the hospital owned by my eight godfathers? When I left home, Big Pops, a CEO, had looked at me with bloodshot eyes. He'd told me that if the Stanton family so much as laid a finger on me, he would bankrupt them without hesitation. Second Pops, a surgeon, hadn't said a word. He had just quietly wiped down his scalpel. This time, it looks like Sharon and my parents won't be walking out of here alive.

I always had a weakness for handsome men, so I camped out online to grab one of the very first AI incubi. The brand's whole pitch was seduction tuned a hundred percent to its owner's taste. But every time I got within ten minutes of Lucien Crane, he'd force-start a system cleaning cycle, go dark, and idle out. "Master, please don't overuse me. Bacteria buildup can cause a malfunction." Left unsatisfied every single time, I finally went to customer service, and the rep looked as baffled as I felt. "An incubus unit would never break off contact with its owner. We'd recommend restarting him at home." But on the drive back, I happened to scroll past a livestream from my live-in housekeeper. The title sat right there in bold: How a Seasoned Queen Subdues In Her AI Incubus. The lighting was low. The man's earlobes were flushed, and he knelt on one knee, every inch of bared skin crossed with messy whip marks. My housekeeper wiggled her red-painted toes, all smiles. "This one's got real stamina. Five hours straight and he never once tapped out." As the comments poured in, envious, a chill ran through me. So the so-called "cleaning system" was just his excuse to slack off and idle. Behind my back, he was happily playing somebody else's obedient little sub. If he wouldn't serve me the way he was built to, then he could wait to get shipped back to the factory and scrapped for parts.

"Manager, it's her! I saw it with my own eyes! She stuffed that limited-edition necklace from the display case right into her clothes!” The weekend mall was packed. Out of nowhere, a woman with that perfectly curated influencer look blocked my path and started yelling at the top of her lungs. The crowd waiting in line for coffee instantly froze and turned to stare. I blinked, caught off guard, and was just about to say something. But she didn't give me a chance. She lunged forward and yanked hard at my work jacket. A few brand-new gold necklaces, still with their tags on, hit the marble floor. "Oh my God, you guys! The evidence is right there! Someone call the cops and get this woman arrested—ruin her life, send her straight to prison!” People whipped out their phones to record. A couple of young guys even rolled up their sleeves, ready to play hero. I looked down at the gold chains on the floor, then patted my pocket—where my plainclothes loss-prevention officer badge was sitting—and let out a dry, incredulous laugh. This was the exact stash of stolen goods I'd confiscated just five minutes ago from a trash can in the women's restroom during an ongoing theft bust. So how did she—a random shopper—know exactly where the evidence was on me? And more than that, how did she manage to track me down and block my route to the security office with mall management in tow, all within a single minute?

My mother suffered a heart attack. We had to pay a deposit of thirty thousand dollars before she could receive bypass surgery. I borrowed money from all my relatives and friends and scraped together this life-saving sum. When I was queuing to pay the fee, my husband said, “Why don’t you go get your mom some water to keep her hydrated? I’ll wait in line and handle the payment.” When I returned with the cup of water, I saw him giving the stack of cash to a family member of a patient he had just met. “Hey, we crossed paths for a reason, man. Take this for now. You clearly need it more. We’re fine on our end, trust me,” he said boastfully and patted his chest. He had always been a show-off. A nurse stood outside the resuscitation room with a consent form in her hand as she shouted for a family member to sign. My mother’s heart monitor had already gone flat.

An ambulance rushed in during my night shift, carrying a pregnant woman in critical condition due to severe bleeding. I was about to head into the operating room when I suddenly saw a stream of comments appearing in front of me. "Don't go in there! That pregnant woman is your wife. She had sex with her side dude in the wilderness, and that's what caused the bleeding!" "Your wife is even planning to fake her death and run away with him. She's also setting you up for medical malpractice so you'll end up in prison!" "That baby isn't even yours. And your in-laws are already on their way with the police to arrest you!" After reading those comments, my expression turned dark. At that same moment, I heard the nurse urgently calling me to hurry.

By the seventh year of my relationship with Vanessa McBride, she inherited everything her late sister, Rebecca Holloway, had left behind, including her brother-in-law, Derek Holloway. Every time Vanessa returned from Derek's room, she would hold me close and whisper softly, "Just wait a little longer, Grant. Once I give him a child, we'll finally have our wedding." It was the only condition her family had imposed for her to inherit the McBride legacy. In the six months after returning to the capital, Vanessa went to Derek's room regularly. At first, it was once a month. Then, once every few weeks. Eventually, it became almost every other night. And after six months of being alone every night until dawn, the news finally arrived. Vanessa was pregnant. But the announcement that followed shattered whatever hope I had left. She and Derek were getting married. "Daddy, is someone getting married?" Looking at the wedding decorations filling our home, I pulled my confused daughter into my arms. "Yes," I told her quietly. "Mom is marrying the person she loves. So it's time for us to move out too." What Vanessa never understood was that marriage was never what mattered most to me.

When the names for the overseas study placements were announced, my boyfriend's childhood sweetheart Jenna Lane grabbed me in front of the entire class and refused to let go. Her eyes were red as she said, "Ruby, who do you think you are? How could someone with that worthless brain of yours have scored higher than me without finding out the exam questions beforehand? Two years ago, you stole my boyfriend. And now, you've stolen my spot for studying overseas too? You're nothing but trash!" Faced with her accusations, I instinctively shook my head in denial. With tears in her eyes, she continued indignantly. "A thief would never admit to being one! I have irrefutable proof that you cheated! Trash like you thinks she deserves to go abroad? Don't go overseas and disgrace our country!" My boyfriend Fred White stood behind Jenna with a dark expression. "No wonder you said you would definitely rank first on exam day. To think you would do something this despicable... Disgusting! Absolutely disgusting! Give the placement back to Jenna right now!" The entire class and our teachers watched coldly, condemning me for academic misconduct. "I knew she wasn't a good person from the very beginning..." "She stole someone's boyfriend and then the placement? She's rotten to the core!" "Trash like her should be expelled!" I stood there, finding the entire situation utterly absurd. I did what now? How could someone who had never even entered the examination room have cheated?

When Luca Blair, Daphne Barron's childhood friend, goes bankrupt, she takes the 100,000 dollars meant to save my life and our child's just to help him. I beg her to return the money, but she snaps. "Luca will make it back. Think long-term for once instead of hoarding cash like an idiot." When I demand a promissory note from him, she calls me cold-blooded. Later, Luca breaks down crying, saying he lost everything and is going to starve. Daphne holds him close, promising she will take care of him for the rest of his life. I quietly pack my bags and call Dad. "Dad, you were right. Daphne really is trash. I'm coming home to take over the family business."

After working as a dishwasher abroad for five years, I've finally paid off all the debts my wife, Nora Palmer, owes. I'm thinking of going back home to give Nora a surprise. But when I get home with our son, Rick Moore, I realize that our rented apartment is worn-down and locked. A neighbor who's passing by asks in shock, "Didn't you break up with Nora? What are you doing here?" I immediately head to Nora's office, but the receptionist stops me. "Are you looking for Ms. Palmer? It's her child's sip-and-see party today, so she's not at work." A notification rings on my phone, and the contents show up on the screen. "CEO of Palmer Group, Nora Palmer, drops millions of dollars on her child's extravagant sip-and-see party, and the couple looks completely in love!" Just then, I receive a voice message from Nora. "Honey, I bought some clothes on discount for Rick online, and they're getting delivered to your place today. Remember to pick up the package, okay?" In the background, I can hear the grin in a man's voice as he says in a teasing tone, "The bet is already over. How much longer are you going to fool Adam with that fake marriage certificate? You've been pretending to be poor for years. Haven't you had enough?" I have had my doubts before, but this confirms it. All this while, I'm the only one who's actually penniless. Turns out, after all that hassle, I have turned into the homewrecker instead.