Plot Twists Short Stories & CEO Face Slapping Novels

My boyfriend, Percy Gaskell, suddenly flaunts an engagement ring on the Internet. He also announces that he'll get married in two months. Everyone thinks I'm the lucky bride who will get proposed soon, including myself. Anticipation fills my heart as I start making wedding preparations. But unwittingly, I end up overhearing Percy and his friends' conversation at the doorway of a private room in a bar. "I'm seriously impressed with the method you used to select your wife, Percy. You actually gave all 19 of them different scores! Those with lower scores get kicked out, whereas those with higher scores get to ascend to the next round! In the end, you choose the best wife out of all participants! "Now, the only ones left are Maisie and your beloved mistress, Sabrina. Not only that, but you're also biased toward Sabrina, so you gave her a relatively high score. Maisie is definitely losing this time! "What if Maisie finds out that she's not the one you're marrying in the end? Will she throw a hissy fit?" Percy took a sip out of his wine glass lazily. In a flippant tone, he replied, "That will have to depend on who satisfies me the most. Let me observe them for three more days. If Maisie is still that disappointing, she shouldn't blame me for being ruthless." His friends all burst into laughter. "You're far too soft-hearted, Percy! Maisie is inferior to Sabrina, be it her figure, age, or bedroom skills! I can't believe you're still giving her a chance! "If I were you, I'd have kicked her out in the first round!" Percy just smiles in amusement. "I only wish to give her a chance because I see how pathetically low her score is. If she can't even use the final chance given to her properly, she shouldn't blame me for not marrying her." I can feel my blood turn to ice in my veins. My mind has completely gone blank. All I can hear is my heartbeat, which slowly becomes louder. With a trembling hand, I dig out my phone and text that man's number, which lies at the bottom of my contact list. "Are you up for a whirlwind marriage right now?"

HR sent out the Christmas holiday schedule at 3 p.m. Every employee received seven days off and a Christmas gift box. Well, all of them… except for me. I was given only half a day off. I had my medical records tucked in an envelope as I pushed open the conference room door. My husband, Matthew Westbrook, sat at the far end of the table, focused on something on his laptop. He didn't even look up as I entered. "The holiday schedule's already finalized," he said. "If I change yours now, HR will have to shift everyone's schedule around. Besides, it's just a shoulder procedure, Elena. It's not like you're dying. Once the surgery's over and done with, you'll be as healthy as a horse." I stared at him, not quite believing what I was hearing. Matthew finally looked up, already sounding annoyed. "What? You expect me to change everyone else's plans just because you're my wife?" He frowned. "Being married to me doesn't mean you get special treatment at work." There it was again. I had heard those words, "special treatment," more times than I could count. I'd worked myself into the ground for Westbrook Group for five years. Yet, I somehow still had nothing to show for it. I could negotiate three major international routes and bring in over ten million dollars in revenue, but Bianca Brooke could revise a presentation deck and somehow get more recognition than I did. And the one time I disagreed with one of her proposals? That day, Matthew took away my entire annual bonus. Apparently, five years of loyalty meant nothing when Bianca was involved. I wanted to argue, but Matthew already shut his laptop and stood up. He put on his coat as if the conversation were already over. "I've got to jet." He walked straight past me without even a glance. "I'll have Finance double your holiday pay," he added as he reached the door. "Consider it compensation for staying behind." He left right after that. The conference room door had barely closed behind him when my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram notification from Bianca. I opened it to find a selfie of her seated on a private jet. Her passport lay casually on the table beside her, cream leather seats stretched out behind her, and a custom gold Westbrook pin gleamed on her coat collar. Her caption read, "Seven days in Monteluce, courtesy of the company. And I get to attend the gala with the CEO. What a way to end the year!" I stared at the screen, thinking, 'So, that's why he's got to jet.' Matthew had just told me that giving his wife time off for shoulder surgery would be unfair to everyone else, but Bianca was being flown to Monteluce for a seven-day Christmas vacation. She got seven days, while I got half a day. For a moment there, I could barely breathe. My grip tightened around my phone as I reached for the wall to steady myself, the envelope containing my medical records still clutched in my other hand. I looked at Bianca's smiling face one last time before closing Instagram. Then, I opened my contacts and made a call. "Uncle Gabe?" To my surprise, my voice came out perfectly calm. "That 80-million-dollar credit line Harrington Bank approved for Westbrook Group? I want you to pull it." Silence filled the other end of the line. I looked down at the medical records in my hand, and something fragile inside me finally settled. "My husband made something very clear to me today," I continued, staring at nothing. "Being married to him doesn't mean I deserve special treatment." A slow smile spread across my face as my gaze sharpened. "So, I don't see why his company should be funded 80 million just because he's married to me."

I could see floating live-chat comments from the future. And that little trick saved me from dozens of cheating scumbags. But today, my adoptive parents gave me an ultimatum. I had to pick a fiancé, or else… The family’s real daughter, Wendy Wellington, who was recently found and welcomed back with open arms, clutched my hands. Tears welled in her eyes as she pointed to a man in a wheelchair. The man, Harry Peterson, wore a faded undershirt and a tattered blanket over his knees. Word on the street was that he had gone bankrupt, owing over a hundred million dollars. "Sister, my health is too fragile for a hard life," Wendy sniffled while trying to hide her smirk. "What would people say if the real heiress was seen riding a public bus? “You’re so much stronger than me. Do this one for the sake of the family." She glanced over at a guy leaning against a blood-red Ferrari nearby. "I’ll handle the billionaire’s son," she added quickly. "You shouldn't be blinded by money to make a mistake." I looked at Harry in the wheelchair. Floating right above his head was a wall of glowing comments. “LOL! She’s dumping the city’s richest hidden billionaire for a guy who’s going to prison next week?” “He’s only playing broke and disabled to catch his rivals off guard. Once he clears his name next month, his net worth is going to skyrocket!” I squeezed my sister’s hands tight and a sweet smile spread across my face. "Since you've put so much thought into my future, I would hate to disappoint you," I said. "I'll take the guy in the wheelchair.”

There were eight daughters-in-law in the Reynolds family, and I was the one everyone considered the most hopeless. While my sisters-in-law were making waves in business and landing on Forbes lists, I was busy shopping till I dropped. They talked about mergers, acquisitions, and corporate restructuring. I only cared about limited-edition Hermès bags and exotic-skin handbags. As far as they were concerned, I was the brainless gold digger their youngest brother had somehow been stupid enough to marry. I did not care. My husband's black card was mine to use, and all I had to do was look pretty and enjoy the good life. That all changed when Reynolds Group came under a coordinated attack from a group of international business giants, pushing the company to the brink of collapse. The attack came hard and fast. The rivals used three overseas gold mines as collateral, nearly draining Reynolds Group of its last reserves of cash. The entire family was thrown into chaos. Overnight, my father-in-law seemed to age ten years. My highly accomplished sisters-in-law called in every favor and used every connection they had, yet they still could not uncover the truth about who was really behind the attack. Then, as if he owned the place, our enemy sat arrogantly in the seat of honor in our living room and demanded that my father-in-law hand over his chairman's seal. I came downstairs carrying a cup of pour-over coffee and frowned. "Who let this nouveau riche slob in? He's getting my sofa dirty." My eldest sister-in-law immediately pulled me behind her and snapped, "Get back to your room. Now!" My husband instinctively covered my eyes and tried to pull me away. In that critical moment, the entire family seemed to silently agree on one thing—they had to protect me. Reluctantly, I turned to leave. Then I happened to catch sight of the Patek Philippe on our enemy's wrist. Wait. A billionaire who supposedly owned three gold mines was wearing a Patek Philippe with crooked hour markers?

In the Santoro family, there was one rule: the heir marries a daughter from another powerful Family. But Alessio Santoro was crazy. He wanted to marry me, a nobody from a flower shop. He knelt in the family chapel for ten days straight. He even took a bullet fired by his own father, the Don. All just to walk away from his title and run away with me. I held him, crying, begging him to stop. He just smiled and kissed my eyes, wiping my tears. "Don't cry, Thea. As long as I can marry you, it's all worth it." In the end, the Santoros relented. But they had one condition: Alessio would still produce the next heir. Just not with me. He had to have a son with Aurelia Rossi. So I endured. I endured listening to them through the wall, night after agonizing night. I endured the smell of her perfume on his skin, the sight of her marks on his neck every time he kissed me. A year later, Aurelia got pregnant. It was a girl. Alessio begged me, his eyes red. "Just a little longer, Thea." So I waited another year. Finally, news came. Aurelia was pregnant with a boy. I thought we could finally leave, finally be free. But then disaster struck. Aurelia’s daughter had a sudden, violent allergic reaction. Everyone blamed me. They threw me in the cellar and left me to die. And Alessio? He believed them. This time, I was the one who gave up. I walked away from everything.

At the engagement party, the champagne tower is only half-built when Marcus Harrison answers a phone call. He glances at me and says, "I have to go. Lily collapsed at the airport." I say, "If you leave, we're done." He leaves anyway, in front of 200 guests. He carries Lily Bardot in his arms, wearing the coat I gave him, as he drives away in my car. The next day, he sends me an email that reads, "Lily will be moving into my apartment. She needs me, and I hope you can understand. Once Lily gets better, we'll get married. Please trust me." I stare at the screen and suddenly laugh. So what he wants isn't someone who loves him. It's someone who needs him. And I'm too independent, so I don't make the cut. That evening, I scroll through my contacts and find a number I've never given a second glance to. It belongs to someone who's been waiting for me for 23 years. I dial it. "Tomorrow night, 7:00 pm. Meet me at the restaurant by the sea."

During the holiday, I come across the wedding announcement of my son, Howard Miller, online while recuperating overseas. To my shock, his fiancee is a woman in her 60s! I rush home immediately, only to find that my adopted daughters are gathered around my adopted son, William Miller, and fussing over him. When they see me, they each have something to say. "Ethan, Howard says he likes older women. We've tried talking him out of it, but he won't listen." "Don't worry, Ethan. After Howard marries Ms. Holloway and joins her family as a live-in son-in-law, we'll help him manage all of the Miller family's businesses." "No matter which one of us William chooses to marry in the end, we'll respect it. The most important thing is to produce an heir for the Miller family to carry on the bloodline." As I look at Howard, who is already numb from all the torment, my entire body trembles with rage. The young women who are supposed to become my future daughter-in-law think they can steal everything away from my son. Dream on!

My mother sent me to Chicago to marry Marco Ricci. A power move. One meant to cement our family’s control of the city. After all, my grandfather was the one who put the Riccis on the map. They owed us. They were supposed to treat me like royalty. I went to the fanciest jeweler in Chicago to buy my fiancé a gift. But some broad snatched it right from me. Before I could move, the store manager was fawning all over her. “Miss Bianca! A gift from Mr. Ricci? It’s perfect on you!” Marco? My fiancé? So this was his whore. She slid the sapphire ring onto her finger and shot me a look of disgust. “Who the hell do you think you are, bitch? Trying to take what’s mine?” I didn't even look at her. I just called Marco. "Your whore has something of mine. You have three minutes. Get down to the jeweler and handle her."

There were two notorious losers in the high society. One was me, Olivia Corsetti, a spoiled brat whose only real skill was swiping a credit card. The other was my childhood sweetheart, Arthur Pembroke, an old-money heir with severe autism and congenital heart failure. But my oldest brother, Vito Corsetti, was the mafia Don who ruled the underworld, while my other brother, Leon Corsetti, was a Wall Street shark with a hundred billion dollars at his command. Arthur's two older sisters were just as formidable: Sophia Pembroke, the country's top federal prosecutor with a perfect record, and Chloe Pembroke, an elite surgeon famous for pulling patients back from the brink of death. One day, the four of them got together and came up with a plan. "Taking care of one loser is no different from taking care of two. Let's pair them up. It'll be less work for everyone." So Arthur and I went straight to a church and exchanged vows. After the wedding, we charged everything to Leon's black card, ate and drank for free at Vito's casinos, and waited for Arthur's sisters to bring us food every few days. That lasted until Vito sent us to a charity gala in Manhattan in his place. There, heiress Isabella Harrington took one look at a blurry photo taken from behind and decided I was the woman sleeping with her fiancé. I explained, "You've got the wrong person. I'm married. This is my husband." She tried to slap me anyway. Arthur instinctively stepped in front of me and took the blow. His lip split, and blood welled up at once. Isabella sneered, "What, are you an idiot too? Your wife's sleeping with other men behind your back, and you're still protecting her? "Get them both!" Several bodyguards lunged at us. I wiped the blood from Arthur's lip and called Vito. "Vito, someone's picking on me." But there was one thing they didn't know. Cross those four heavy hitters, and all you'd get was bankruptcy and prison. But cross the two of us losers, and you'd pay with your life.

I'm Serena Sorrento, the sole daughter of Don Salvatore Sorrento. After seeing the news of a female employee getting stalked and assaulted by a stalker on her way home from work, I spend millions of dollars arranging specialized cars for every female employee in my company when they get off work at night. At first, I thought I'd receive a "thank you" from them. But those employees have the gall to criticize me on various major social media platforms. "Our boss is practically forcing us to work overtime!" "Why must employees hand over the information of their home addresses to the company, anyway?" "Since our boss has money to buy those luxury cars, she might as well give us the money right away!" The entire Internet bashes me for capitalizing on my charity, gloating about my wealth, and not knowing what my employees actually want. After receiving a bombardment of insulting and humiliating text messages, I decide to take the Internet's advice and call for a mandatory company meeting. "After receiving the sincere feedback from all the employees, I shall terminate the specialized pick-up service from today onward. Instead, I shall have it reclassified as a transportation allowance. Those who are eligible shall receive 100 dollars per month." As soon as the announcement is made, the entire company goes crazy.

On our third wedding anniversary, I brought a gift to my husband’s office. Walking past the secretary's suite, I stopped dead. A king-size bed had been set up inside. A young woman in a designer dress was sprawled across it, a handheld game console in her hands, surrounded by imported snacks of every variety. "Kevin, the lunch you ordered yesterday was pre-packaged meals. Marcus and I both felt sick after eating it. Today, make sure it's from The Palace Hotel." Kevin -- my husband's personal assistant -- bowed and scraped before her, his face a mask of obsequious flattery. "Mrs. Thorne, please don't worry. Mr. Thorne made it very clear -- everything should be tailored to your preferences and the baby's. He knows you love the chef at The Palace Hotel, so he set up a standing VIP account for you. Anything you want, anytime." She was Mrs. Thorne? Then what exactly was I? My brow furrowed. I glanced down at the wedding ring I'd worn for years. The girl beamed, radiant. "For the baby's arrival, my husband is throwing a lavish yacht party. Every important person in New York is getting an invitation. I want the whole world to know that I'm the love of his life, and that our son will be blessed by the most powerful people before he's even born. The champagne and flowers must be the finest available -- no budget limit. Our child is going to have the best of everything from day one." I stared at the gentle swell of her belly and called my father. "Dad, that divorce agreement you drew up three years ago -- you can have the lawyers send it over now."

My fiancé of three years, Julius, sold me. To a black market auction in Vegas. I was sold to another man for five million dollars. Julius was begging me. "I owe five million," he pleaded. "If I don't pay up, they're gonna dump me in the river." "You're a dead ringer for the Don of the Norling family's late wife. All you have to do is keep him happy, and my debt gets wiped clean." "Don't worry," he said. "When he gets tired of you, I won't think any less of you. We'll still get married." So they drugged me and delivered me to an estate that was all too familiar. But here’s what he didn't know. The Don of the Norling family would kill for his daughter. And I'm that daughter. The one he’s kept hidden all these years.

"I know you're an ace divorce attorney. Please help me!" A young woman who's holding a child suddenly barges into the law firm and gets down on her knees in front of me. I'm about to help her up to her feet when a few live comments appear in front of my eyes. "This really is a doomed story. I can't believe the FMC has to go through all sorts of torment before dying." "Once she gets caught, both she and her child will be dead. The MMC can only spend the rest of his life in eternal remorse." "The FMC is pretty naive, isn't she? She thinks finding herself an attorney can help her secure a divorce. The MMC is the richest man in Opalford at the end of the day, so there's no way she can file for a divorce successfully." When I spot the next comment, its contents sting my eyes immediately. "Unfortunately, this attorney is a throwaway character too. Not only does she refuse to help FMC, but she also fails to recognize her as her older sister, who has gone missing for many years."

The three heirs of the Whitman family all claimed to love me. But their way of loving me was to keep me hidden. Alexander said New York's financial reporters were too aggressive and that making our relationship public would only put me in the middle of a media frenzy. Nicholas said people in the investment world were vicious gossips and he was afraid I'd become a target, so he never brought me to his partners' gatherings, private clubs, or holiday receptions. Leon said his music career wasn't established yet. Once he had a stage that was truly his own, he would acknowledge me in front of the whole world. I waited four years. This changed when Lillian Grant walked into their lives. Alexander walked her down the red carpet at the Manhattan Art Foundation gala. The next day, every entertainment outlet ran the same headline: "Eldest Whitman Heir Appears to Go Public with New Romance." Nicholas brought her to an investor reception, where his partners called her "the future Mrs. Whitman" right to my face. Leon was the most direct. He played a song at a twenty-thousand-person concert and told the livestream camera, "For the most important person in my life." The jumbotron cut to Lillian's seat. The day after the livestream. Alexander set a folder on the coffee table. "You're twenty-five now. We think it's time you had a life of your own." Nicholas continued, "This man comes from an ordinary background, but he has a stable job. He's been divorced once and has no children. " Leon slid the photo in front of me, smiling with the same easy warmth as always. "We've already met him for you. He's more than a good match." I didn't argue. I just picked up my phone and called the Whitman family attorney. What they didn't know was that the family trust Grandfather had established before his death made one thing perfectly clear. Whoever I chose would receive that twenty-seven percent block of voting shares and become the true power behind the Whitman family.

I have been dating my manager boyfriend, Caleb Frost, for five years. He calls off our wedding 52 times for Gina Lowe, an aspiring actress on the set. On the day I am ready to give up on him and walk away, Gina falsely accuses me of using expired makeup on her that caused an allergic reaction. So Caleb shoves me into a sealed cellar and locks me inside. As he pushes me down, his face is twisted in disgust. "It's one thing to pick on Gina, but to use expired makeup on her and cause an allergy? Do you know how important an artist's face is? "Stay down there and think about your wrongdoings." With that, he drags the crying Gina to the hospital. The cellar's air vent is blocked. Every breath I take grows harder until I suffocate to death inside. Three days later, Caleb remembers me only after attending a gathering with Gina. But little does he know, I am already dead from the lack of oxygen in that dark cellar.

The wedding's in half an hour, and my fiancé's assistant, this woman, just hands me this paper. Rule number one: No physical contact with him outside, not unless he explicitly permits it. Rule number two: Intimacy is to occur only when he initiates it. She is obligated to satisfy his desires at least once a month. Rule number three: He can demand his due at any time, any place, and she cannot refuse. ... After I finished reading this entire two-page contract, I had to fight to keep a smile on my face. Swallowing the fire in my gut, I called my fiancé. "Marcus, what the hell is this?" "What do you mean, 'If he fathers a child, she must raise it, no matter who the mother is'?"

My husband called me fat, ugly, and disgusting. Then he used that as an excuse to cheat on me with his secretary, Joanna. I threw him a birthday party, hoping to make him happy, but he chose to spend the night with her instead. Tired and fed up, I signed the divorce papers and walked out of his life. Three years later, I was no longer the unwanted XXL wife of Adrian Wellington. I was Miranda Wright, a billionaire heiress who had just bought my ex-husband’s company under a fake name. When Adrian finally discovered who I was, he was shocked. Then he fell at my feet, pleading for another chance. “Miranda, don’t do this to us.” I ignored him, pulled my hand away, and barked an order at my security guards. “Throw him out, and make sure he never comes anywhere near me again.” He once thought I wasn’t good enough for him. Now, he was begging for the woman he had thrown away.

As I head to see my boyfriend, Howard Schultz, who is working late, I get into a car accident. I call him dozens of times for help, but he doesn't answer a single one. Staring at his brightly lit office building not far away, I sink into despair. When I wake up in the hospital, I see a post from his subordinate. It's a picture showing the reflection of the two of them in the glass door, standing far closer than they should, with the caption, "What do I do when my boss is scolding me late at night?" Unwilling to believe it, I call him again. This time, he finally answers. My voice trembles. "Howard, I got into a car accident…" "Celine, I'm still working. I'll send my assistant to take care of it, okay? Be good. I'll see you after I come back from my business trip." I try to say more, but his angry shout suddenly cuts through the line. "Crystal Jennings! You're only allowed to bring one suitcase for this trip. Why do you have three? Do you think we're going on vacation?" Crystal Jennings—the new intern Howard just hired. I stare at the disconnected call, tears drying on my cheeks. I then call my parents instead. "I agree to the engagement you arranged."

After returning from a three-month business trip, I rushed to meet my fiancé and resolve our dispute over my best friend, Elena. Elena’s ex-husband left her penniless and broken. I offered her my apartment, helped her "find herself" and accompanied her through nights of tequila-soaked sobbing. My fiance, Julian, hated it. Or so he said. "She’s a leech, Clara," he’d snap, watching her try on my designer coats. "She doesn't even know how to make toast without calling for help. Are you her best friend or her maid? People like her don't want to heal; they just want a free ride." She's lost everything, Julian," I argued."Without her, I wouldn't have survived my mother’s death. Please, just be patient for me." I let myself in quietly. The house was still, the air smelling of expensive candles and something else—something sweet and floral that wasn't mine. I walked toward the master suite, expecting to find Julian asleep. Instead, the door was ajar. The wine bottle I had brought to surprise Julian slipped from my hand, leaving me paralyzed for a moment. Elena was draped across my silk sheets. Julian was hovering over her, expertly shucking oysters—my favorite—and feeding them to her with a look of doting, soft-eyed tenderness he hadn't shown me in months. "You're so much better at this than she is," Julian purred. "Because she’s cold, Julian," Elena whispered, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. "She’s all business. She doesn't know how to satisfy men in bed." I stood in the doorway, my whole self trembling, not in cold but in pure rage and disgust. "I hope the oysters are fresh," I said, my voice cutting through the room like a blade.

By the time I hit twenty without a husband, I'd become the joke of Butcher's Alley. I wasn't about to just take it, so I marched out to the pauper's graveyard and dragged home a half-dead man I found there. He was gorgeous. More handsome than any portrait I'd ever seen. It didn't matter that he'd lost his memory and wasn't quite right in the head. It didn't matter that he couldn't lift a crate or carry a load, that he nearly fainted dead away the first time he watched me slaughter a pig. I slapped my knee and made up my mind. "You're the one. You handle looking pretty, and I'll handle bringing home the bacon." I named him Walt and treated him like he was made of glass. I fed him well, kept him comfortable, and slowly nursed him back to health until his cheeks were full and his skin was soft. Then I started planning the wedding. On our wedding night, I'd just gotten his wedding coat off when the front door flew off its hinges. Hundreds of royal guards dropped to their knees all at once, their voices shaking the walls. "Welcome back to the capital, Grand Chancellor!" I looked down at the man beneath me. The warmth in his eyes was gone, replaced by something cold and sharp. The belt I'd been holding snapped right in two. I was done for. I'd been bossing around the most powerful man in the empire for six months and using him as a house husband. Was I looking at death by slow torture, or would they wipe out my entire family?