Melodramatic Short Stories & Bias Face Slapping Novels

Ever since Mom has gotten remarried, my stepdad, Winston Cox, becomes the only person who matters to her. She saves every luxury meal and delicacy for him, while I am left to sip on his leftover soup. His designer suits fill three closets until they overflow, yet I am forced to wear my cousin's old hand-me-downs. She spends 20 thousand dollars on virtual gaming gear for him, but when I ask for a ten-dollar study guide, she says, "Just memorizing the textbook is more than enough!" One night, the noise Mom and Winston make in the bathroom disrupts my studying. When I ask that they keep it down, Mom throws me out of the house and onto the street. Years later, I turn into a multibillion-dollar entrepreneur. That's when Mom crawls back to me, begging, "Winston and his mistress teamed up and drained all my assets. Could you please take me in?"

I discover that my wife's stepbrother has secretly swapped the IVF sample I had stored at the hospital. But I pretend not to know and let my wife give birth to a son. I raise their child as if he's my own. Years later, I mold him into a business prodigy and even transfer all of my company's shares to him. At the company's celebration dinner, my wife's stepbrother suddenly produces a paternity test in front of everyone and says to me, "Jon is my biological son. Give him back to me." I smile calmly. "Take him then."

The earthquake hit out of nowhere, and the whole class jammed up at the door. Rainee Bianco, our resident queen bee, jumped onto the podium. "Don't freak out! Get into the triangle zone and wait for rescue!" Yeah, no. Experts had already called that advice bogus. The so-called triangle zone wasn't safe. I looked out at the lawn. "We're on the third floor. Jump now, and we might actually make it!" Everyone froze for half a second. Then they started climbing out the windows. Everyone but Tristan Dodd, my childhood best friend. He bolted straight for the triangle zone. I ran after him, grabbed him, and dragged him out the window with me. He walked away without a scratch. I shattered my leg. After that, Tristan acted like I'd hung the moon. He took care of me every day, and after graduation, we ended up together. Then Rainee found out. She got drunk, fell into a lake, and drowned. The second Tristan heard, he shoved me off a cliff. "If I didn't owe you my life, you really think I would've picked you? She was right. This is all your fault!" When I opened my eyes, I was back at the exact moment he ran for the triangle zone. 'He wants to die this time? Fine by me.'

I, my best friend, and my girlfriend are in our fourth year at the same law firm. People jokingly call us "The Three Musketeers". When colleagues egg us on to play "Never Have I Ever", my best friend, Owen Steele, is the first to speak. "Never have I ever been Chelsea's best partner." I respond with a smile, "Never have I ever been her live-in boyfriend." Owen doesn't back down. "Never have I ever been driven to and from work by her." My smile freezes, and I fold one finger down. For four whole years, my girlfriend, Chelsea Moran, always uses different work schedules as an excuse to make me take the bus and the subway. Owen ignores my pale face and continues, "Never have I ever talked with Chelsea for eight hours a day. Never have I ever stayed up all night with her three times a week. Never have I ever bought the red lingerie she wears." The whole room erupts in laughter and then falls into an eerie silence. By now, I only have one finger left standing. Owen leans in close and suddenly smiles. "Never have I ever had her meet my parents instead of yours on Independence Day." My breath catches. I turn to look at Chelsea, who remains expressionless. No wonder she doesn't answer my calls and even breaks the industry taboo by turning off her phone for 24 hours. It turns out she is off meeting her new in-laws. My fingers are all down now, and I walk away right in front of Chelsea.

My name is Gabriel Wilson, and my sister is Isabelle Wilson. Growing up, Dad runs our house by making an example out of me. In elementary school, whenever Isabelle misses a single math problem on her homework, Dad forces me to write it out a hundred times. I scribble until my fingers cramp into a knot and I can barely grip the pen, which terrifies Isabelle so much that she stops making careless mistakes altogether. During middle school, Isabelle uses her allowance to buy a ten-dollar bag of snacks for a boy she likes, and the moment Dad finds out, he slashes my monthly allowance from 1,200 dollars down to a measly 200 dollars. For the next month, I survive entirely on cheap, stale bread until I'm rushed to the ER for throwing up bile. Even so, Dad only relents when Isabelle breaks down in tears and promises never to waste another dime. When college rolls around, Isabelle insists on applying to the police academy. Dad tries to talk her out of it, but when he realizes she won't budge, he tells her, "You want to be a cop? Fine. Let me show you what real cops actually have to deal with." He wipes my social security number from the system, stages my disappearance to look like a kidnapping, and dumps me right in the middle of a serial killer's hunting ground. I spend days confined in an abandoned cabin, calling for help until my voice goes hoarse. Blood begins to pool beneath my feet as the serial killer slices my skin with a rusted blade. Back home, Isabelle frantically begs Dad for my tracker. "Dad, please!" she screams. "Just tell me where Gabriel is! I won't join the police force, okay? I'll drop the whole thing!" Even though I'm just on the other side of the wall from them, I can no longer make a sound. My soul drifts in midair as I watch Isabelle collapse onto the floor in despair, sobbing. Dad, I'm done letting you make an example out of me.

Being a war correspondent, I spend all my time searching for any trace of Damian Calloway. Through countless close brushes with death, only one thought keeps me going—I want to die by his side. Four years later, I receive a phone call from him. "Evelyn, Camille finally forgave you," Damian says, his voice coming through the receiver with jarring clarity. In the background, the peaceful, mundane sounds of life drift through the line, a stark contrast to the chaotic battlefield around me. I freeze. "What are you talking about?" Damian chuckles. "I left the military a long time ago. I've been back home with Camille this whole time. You made her cry before you left, and she has a temper. She wanted to teach you a lesson, but she's over it now, so you can come home and marry me." The wedding date we decided on is exactly one month away. It turns out that he has been keeping track of the dates the entire time, treating the danger I survive daily as if it's a joke. When I step into the terminal, his friends don't even bother hiding their smirks. "Look at her," one of them mutters. "She's a total simp. As if she could actually stay mad." "One phone call from Damian, and she drops everything to fly across the world—" Just then, everyone freezes. The smile vanishes from Damian's face as every eye locks onto the unfamiliar wedding ring on my finger.

My wife, Piper Carlson, yanked out my ventilator tube with her own hands. All because she believed the man who donated a kidney to save her was the guy she'd never gotten over. And me? The husband she'd hated for ten years? Just a liar who stole his credit. "Don't be scared, Elliot. The thief who stole your life finally got what he deserved." The second she pulled the tube, my body locked up. I couldn't breathe. Piper barely looked at me. She just held her "savior" close, relieved I was finally gone. Then, while I was dying, she hit me with one last secret. "Marco, wanna know why you could never get me pregnant again? I slipped something into every bottle of vitamins I gave you. You don't deserve my child." I was so furious I almost lost it. But Piper was already posting her marriage certificate with Elliot Lacy. [After everything we've been through, I finally got my happy ending with the man who saved me.] With the last bit of strength I had, I left one final comment. [Piper, how's my kidney treating you?] Then I opened my eyes. I was back ten years earlier, on the rainy night Elliot stole credit for saving her with my kidney.

The It Girl, Kelly Hilton, claims she's an airhead beauty. When a D-list nobody like me joins her on a variety show, she takes my mother's keepsake pendant without saying a word. Then, she breaks it into pieces. Yet, Kelly shows no remorse, saying, "Oh, I'm just such an airhead. It's normal for me to break things by accident. Your mom is already dead, so just let it go, okay? Everyone has to move on!" I laugh in disbelief. "You think causing trouble is cute and having no manners is being genuine? 'Airhead beauty'? You're just an idiot. Don't try to make yourself sound better than you are." Kelly's eyes redden. "How could you scold me? I quit! I'll have my brothers deal with you!" The crew is stunned. "Is she crazy? Doesn't she know how protective the Litt family brothers are of their sister?" "They are obsessed with Kelly. They'd do anything for her!" I can't help but laugh. I've entered the entertainment industry in the first place because my brothers are too clingy. I may be a nobody, but I haven't lost my memory. How come I don't know that my brothers have a sister named Kelly?

The yacht carrying my parents and my younger brother, Dylan Marsh, exploded at sea. There were no survivors. I came home to an empty house and a mountain of debt I had no way to pay off. Numb with despair, I climbed onto the roof, ready to jump—when a stream of comments suddenly scrolled past my vision, as if I were watching myself from the outside. [Plot twist: your parents actually won three hundred million dollars in the lottery. They took your brother abroad to live it up.] [Lol, Dylan has no idea the poor, blind girlfriend he dumped is actually the eldest daughter of the Ross family. She's just been playing along, pretending to be broke.] [Once Dylan blows through all his money and comes crawling back, Celeste Ross is going to lock him in a room and make him pay for it.] [Come on, cannon fodder, jump already. Everyone's waiting for Dylan's big comeback.] I decided, right then, that I wasn't going to die after all. That night, soaked to the bone and half-drunk, I knocked on Celeste Ross's door.

I back out of marrying Yvonne Mullen, my fiancee, just two days before the wedding, even though we have been together for seven years. The staff member at the venue is stunned. "Your wedding is coming. Don't you want to wait for the bride to return and talk things over first?" I smile and take one last look at the wedding venue I personally spent three months preparing. I then say calmly, "I'm done waiting. She doesn't have the time since she's getting married to her first love in Alveria at this moment."

On our tenth anniversary, my husband's secure work phone buzzed. "Sorry, honey. Emergency callout." He looked so anxious that I did what I had always done and let him leave without complaint. One second later, my phone recommended a viral video with more than a million likes. Derek Foster's best friend, Mason Reed, raised his glass to the camera, drunk and grinning. "First toast to me. My buddy disappeared, so I stood in as the groom. "Second toast to me. He went on a date, and I told his wife he was at tactical training. "Third toast to me. He handed me his kid to raise, and I became a dad without doing any of the work." The comments exploded. Everyone praised Mason for creating the perfect comedy account. I couldn't laugh. Mason really was raising an eight-year-old boy alone. I called him. "Where are you?" His voice was thick with sleep, but he answered, "Out grabbing barbecue with Derek." I hung up, picked up my newest Birkin, and took a selfie in front of Derek's prized whiskey wall. Then I posted: "Trading in my husband. Thirty-six, seeking two eighteen-year-olds. Ambition optional. DMs open."

When my parents got divorced, they fought viciously over my younger brother and avoided me as if I were a burden. In the end, the court placed me with my mother. My biological father held my brother's hand and watched with satisfaction as Mom slapped me. "Hit him harder! If you kill him, you won't have to support him. Think how much money you'll save!" My new stepfather walked in, helped me off the floor, and said, "From now on, I'm your dad. Do you understand?" Years later, I bought my stepfather a luxury car and a beautiful house. Then the biological father who had vanished from my life lay crying in a hospital bed, begging me to save him. I smiled as I peeled his fingers from my hand. "You can stop worrying now, Mr. Lennox. Go ahead and die."

After being apart for three years, I met my ex-girlfriend, Serena Jensen, during a police operation. She was the ambitious detective in charge, while I was a murder suspect who had escaped across eight states. When our eyes met, Serena was momentarily stunned. "Channing Jones... How could it be you..." I seized the moment and turned to run, but one of her men struck my shin. In the interrogation room, she yelled at me with reddened eyes. "Four lives are lost! Channing, how could you do such a thing? Tell me I was mistaken! Speak! Say something!" When I looked at her heartbroken eyes, I suddenly smiled. "You are indeed mistaken. It is not four, but five. Do you not care most about your husband and my former best friend, Myles Sheldon? How come you do not even notice he is missing?"

Everyone in college has gone home for winter break. A guy from the next class shares a photo in our group chat, bragging about his Christmas gift—ten thousand and one 100-dollar bills. The entire group chat goes wild. I jump on the bandwagon, sending a couple of envious memes before tapping on the photo to zoom in. Ten thousand and one consecutive bills. But my eyes lock onto the family portrait peeking out from the edge of the frame. The woman in the photo… is Mom? I dial her number immediately. "Hey Mom, what Christmas gift are you going to get me this year?" On the other end of the line, her laughter falters. Then she replies casually, "Same as always—200 dollars. It's just a formality anyway. Why do you ask?" I force a smile and tell her it's nothing. I hang up and immediately hail a cab to that guy's house.

After I started dating Ryan Kellogg, I gave up the little rituals I had loved for twenty years. No birthday cakes. No fireworks on New Year's Eve. No more searching for the restaurant with the prettiest view on our anniversary. Ryan always said real life didn't need all that decorative nonsense. He only agreed to a modest engagement dinner because I insisted. But when he arrived that evening, he was wearing a perfectly tailored suit. Our friends and relatives looked at him with new respect. I was thrilled, convinced he was finally learning to meet me halfway. Then, on the drive home, I happened to see a post from Sophie Bennett, the younger graduate Ryan had been mentoring. In the photo, she stood beside him outside Bellhaven State University, wearing the heirloom brooch his late mother had meant for his future wife. Her caption read: My mentor said he never expected the first time he'd wear a full suit would be for my graduation. I scrolled farther. Ryan had sent Sophie flowers and a cake for her birthday. He'd even helped celebrate the adoption anniversary of her dog. I touched the empty place above my heart and felt something inside me turn cold. His romance was a privilege reserved for Sophie. Our engagement dinner had merely fit into his schedule. As we entered our apartment complex, Ryan tapped the steering wheel. "Han, I gave you the engagement dinner you wanted. Let's just do the courthouse ceremony next week and skip the wedding." I put away my phone and smiled. "All right." He was right about one thing. There was no reason for us to get married.

Andy Bennett had been my husband for ten years. And yeah, we were stupid in love. Lately, though, he'd gotten weirdly obsessed with some game on his phone. Every night, it buzzed nonstop. "It's new. The vibration setting is insanely relaxing." I bought it. I even got him blue-light glasses and wrist supports because he worked crazy hours and was always stressed. If a game helped him chill, fine by me. Then one night, he left his phone on the counter while he showered. It buzzed again. The screen lit up. No game. It was an app for a sex toy. A giant control wheel sat in the middle. [Remote Control] [Couple Mode] [Synchronized Vibration] Then a request popped up. [Invited by: Eunice Seaton.] My daughter's piano teacher.

On the very first day of my rebirth, I immediately quit my job, a dream position with a lucrative salary and weekends off. Instead, I went straight to a shady loan shark to borrow ten million dollars. In my past life, my boyfriend’s childhood best friend used a system to steal my hard-earned paychecks. She took my money and traveled the world with my boyfriend. She even went live online to donate money to retirement homes, praised by netizens everywhere as a literal angel. Meanwhile, the one million dollars I had saved up for my mother’s life-saving surgery after working overnight shifts was wiped out in an instant. I begged her to return my money. Yet, she put on a pathetic, innocent act. “Have some self-respect! If you want money, earn it yourself. Why are you forcing me to hand over mine?” My boyfriend sneered at me. “Why can’t you learn from her and be an independent woman? Would you die if you weren't so greedy?!” The very next day, rumors framing me as a gold-digger blew up across the internet, which led my mom to die of a heart attack. My boyfriend and his childhood friend took my one million dollars, bought a luxury sports car, and went on a joyride without a care in the world. As for me, I was smuggled into an offshore scam compound, turned into a cash-generating puppet, and ultimately died after having my organs harvested. This time around, I’d love to see how his childhood friend travels the world while carrying a massive, mountain-high debt!

Three days before the start of summer break, Mom sends a screenshot of nine train tickets to the family group chat. "We're not just going to hang around at home this year. The whole family's going to stay at your apartment for summer break." A few seconds later, she sends another message. "Aunt Elise and her family are coming too. There's going to be a lot of people, so clean up the master bedroom and let them stay there. Since you're still working during that time, you can stay in your company's break room for a few days." I stare at the messages in stunned silence. I'm renting a two-bedroom apartment by myself. I'm also paying for all the rent, utilities, property management fees, my parents' living expenses, and even my sister Tiffany Roth's livestreaming equipment. Five minutes later, I receive a notification from my bank. 2,680 dollars has been charged to my card to reserve a private room for a welcoming party. A note is attached to the transaction. "For the Roth family's welcoming party in New Grandia." Mom then sends me a voice message. "Everyone in the family knows you're enjoying a lavish lifestyle in the big city. Don't embarrass us in front of them." I reply, "Okay." I hope that they'll be able to maintain the same attitude once they arrive in New Grandia.

I ran a bakery studio in an old neighborhood for three years, focusing on good quality and fair prices. When neighbors came to buy cakes, I gave them a twenty percent discount. I also made it a habit to add an extra piece of pastry. During holidays, I handed out free samples. I believed that treating others with kindness would never go wrong. That was until my neighbor Rosalind Weber asked me to make a thousand-dollar money-pull cake but only transferred one hundred dollars as payment. “I’m supporting your business. Even at twenty percent off, you’re still making a huge profit. “Use the best buttercream and give me your most expensive pastries for free. I need it tonight, so don’t embarrass me.” Thinking we were neighbors, I held back my anger. When I pointed out that the thousand dollars in cash hidden inside the cake had to be covered by the customer herself, she flew into a rage. “What cake costs over a thousand dollars? Is it made of gold?” She immediately went online and accused me of hiking prices. She also used AI to create obscene images, falsely claiming that I smeared cream on private body parts to seduce men, which was why I had repeat male customers. She called the city’s business complaint hotline eight times in a single day. Her actions not only destroyed the reputation I had built over three years but also caused my fiance to break off our engagement. Because of that, I was forced to refund the money and apologize to her. Later, for her husband Marvin Smith’s birthday, she swaggered back to my shop. This time, she slapped the table and ordered a ten-thousand-dollar money-pull cake. I smiled and agreed. This cake would be my “congratulatory gift” to her entire family.

After faking amnesia, I looked my husband and son in the eye and asked, "Who are you?" My husband went quiet for a moment before he answered, "My son and I are here to see my wife. Sorry, we must have the wrong room." The second the words left his mouth, my son grabbed his father's sleeve and pulled him toward the door. "Bye, Ma'am. My daddy and I are going to go see my mommy." The room next door belonged to my husband's first love.