Plot Twists Short Stories & CEO Detective Novels

The richest man in the country, Sebastian Vance, has a ring custom-made to my exact measurements, worth billions of dollars, for the woman who will be his bride. In the first life, my stepsister, Mia Lowe, slips on the ring and marries him. Sebastian claws her face, shouting, "She's not the one!" In the second life, my other stepsister, Lorraine Lowe, loses 30 pounds before marrying him. He shoves her down the stairs anyway and says, "She's not the one either." In the third life, my stepmother, Vivian Cole, grits her teeth and slices off a piece of her own flesh just to force the ring onto her finger. Sebastian sneers and pushes her under the bathwater, holding her down until her body goes limp. By the fourth life, out of options and terrified, they finally send me. I slide the ring on, and it fits perfectly. My entire family lets out a sigh of relief. But the second Sebastian lays his eyes on me, he draws a knife and stabs me to death. "Why is it still not her? Where is she?" In the last life, he has his assistant, Owen Hayes, deliver a ring to us. All four of us insist that it won't fit. Owen shoots us a strange look. "Mr. Vance said the rightful owner of this ring is among you."

When my wife, Cynthia Larson, dies of bone cancer, I am in Penwood on a honeymoon with my "first love". After this is exposed, I—a well-known philanthropist—am subjected to the internet's rage for an entire month. Beyond threats and harassment messages, even my food deliveries are poisoned. As public outrage intensifies, the companies under my name are on the verge of bankruptcy. In overwhelming grief, I start a livestream. Tens of thousands of viewers flood in, demanding that I apologize to my deceased wife. They want to see me suffer as I chase after lost love when it is too late. Unexpectedly, I stand in front of Cynthia's grave holding a shovel. "She is already dead. Shouldn't her kidney be donated to Irene?"

The night before I was due to marry my wealthy fiancé at the courthouse, my best friend, who studied criminal psychology, asked me a strange question. "Molly, your future mother-in-law never had children. So whose son is your fiancé?" Perhaps she thought I wouldn’t believe her. She showed me footage from twenty years ago, when my future mother-in-law spoke firmly to the press. "Even if this family line ends, I will never have a child or adopt one." I stared at her. My fiancé was already four years old twenty years ago. If he wasn’t her son, could he be my future father-in-law’s child from an affair? Then my friend slapped a medical report on the table. It showed my future father-in-law was infertile. "I checked. Your fiancé wasn’t adopted, and he isn’t the child of a relative or family friend. Something’s wrong with that family. Think carefully before you marry him." My friend had barely finished speaking when a message from my fiancé appeared. [Honey, I know we’re getting married tomorrow, but I still can’t settle down. Can I pick you up? Will you stay with me tonight?]

Lately, my world seemed to have taken a strange turn. I was clearly just an ordinary-looking girl. Yet everyone said I was so beautiful they could not take their eyes off me. I was even scouted by a talent agent, debuted as the lead, and became a national sweetheart. I went out to buy a lottery ticket. Out of the blue, I won thirty million dollars. I had money, power, and status. All the things I never dared to dream of before were within easy reach. However, I noticed something strange. My friends were forgetting me day by day.