Plot Twists Short Stories & CEO Regret Novels

I’m the Chief Counsel for Donatello Vexille, the Godfather of the Vexille family. I’m also his secret wife. At night, he’d pull me close, take me with a ragged violence, leaving his marks on me, a brutal claim I couldn’t refuse. But by day, I was just his lawyer. All he had for me were cold commands. We lived like that for three years. I decided I was done. But he couldn’t know. When I handed him the divorce papers, disguised as a bill of lading, and he signed his name, a breath I didn’t know I was holding finally escaped me. I chased him for seven years and was married to him for three. Whatever was left of my heart finally flatlined. I knew I could never have his. Because it already belonged to someone else: Angelina, his underboss’s sister. He remembered her favorite restaurant. He got blind drunk with joy when she filed for divorce. He even posted his personal guards outside her door. Those were honors I never had. So I tricked him into signing the papers, packed my things, and vanished. What I didn't expect was what he did after I left. He put a king's ransom on my location, and even announced to the whole world that I was his wife.

I was a streamer famous for doing random, unhinged stuff online. And now the richest woman in Bayford wanted me to seduce her son. "Make my son fall for you. I'll give you ten properties. Houses, apartments, condos." For a second, even I thought, 'Okay, this is insane.' Marianne Jensen looked at me like I was her last hope. "Please. I'm out of options. Ever since he was little, I kept pretty girls around him. When he got older, I introduced him to every type of girl possible. But he's thirty now and has never dated anyone." Then she lowered her voice. "I think something's wrong with him. Like those billionaire guys in drama shorts. Maybe he only likes weird girls from the bad side of town." I just stared at her. Wow. Appreciate that. 'Did I just meet a crazy person?' I was about to say no when she shoved ten property deeds and a photo across the table. "Go seduce my son. If you pull it off, the ten properties are yours." I looked at the deeds, then the photo, and instantly decided to help this desperate but incredible mother. Forget something being wrong with him. Even if he liked men, I'd still make him fall for me. Thanks to Marianne pulling strings behind the scenes, I became the personal assistant to Jace Jensen, Bayford's golden boy. And the first thing he said when he saw me was, "How much did my mom pay you? I'll double it. Now get out." Two months later, the job was over, but Jace stood there with red eyes, crying. "How could you use me and throw me away? I don't care. You're taking responsibility for this."

After I proposed to Kathy Johnson, my girlfriend of seven years, we went to City Hall to get our marriage license. Instead, she had her bodyguards throw me onto the street. Then, she walked through the doors, hand in hand with her childhood friend, Nate. She didn’t even blink when he saw me sitting there on the ground, shaking with disbelief. "Nate's son needs a legal guardian to secure his inheritance from the Johnson Group. The fastest way is for me to marry Nate and adopt the boy." "As soon as the paperwork is finalized, we'll get a divorce. You'll still be the one I really marry." Everyone assumed that I, the man who had been devoted to her for so long, would foolishly wait. After all, I had already waited for seven long years. But that night, I accepted the arranged business marriage my family had prepared for me and took a flight to Center City on the East Coast. I vanished from Kathy's world completely, and no one saw it coming. Five years later, I returned to Westlake City to visit my family. My wife, Rhea Weyland, was the sole heir to the Weyland family, a powerhouse that practically controlled the entire West Coast economy. She was tied up in a sudden international merger meeting. She had specially arranged for someone to pick me up from the airport. But I never dreamed that the "someone" she sent would be Kathy. The moment she saw me, her gaze immediately fell on the glittering watch on my wrist. "I can't believe that after all these years, you've stooped so low you're wearing a cheap knockoff." "Are you done with your little pity party? It's time to come crawling back. Nate's son is starting at an elite private school, and you're just in time to be his full-time driver and bodyguard." I gently stroked the watch on my wrist. What she didn't know was that this was one of the more modest gifts Rhea had given me.

Everyone warned me never to fall for Dante Moretti. They said he was the ghost of the Velasco family—an underboss who ordered hits without blinking, his heart colder than the barrel of his gun. But when he bent me over that mahogany desk, his mouth against my ear commanding me to say his name, I was stupid enough to think that was possession. It took me an entire year to see the truth. The photographs locked in his study drawer were never of me. The woman in white waiting for him in the cathedral district on Sunday mornings was never me. The girl who took a bullet for him, the one he called his "salvation"—her name is Elena Abate. And Elena happens to be my stepmother's daughter. My father is trying to sell me to a half-dead Agosti heir for five hundred million to save the family. My stepmother is scheming to erase me from existence entirely. And the man I thought would burn this city to the ground for me? On the day I needed him most, he was lifting Elena up a flight of stairs, cradling her like something sacred. They all thought I was just a pawn to be moved around their chessboard. They were wrong. If Dante can't let go of his precious white moonlight, his "salvation," then I'll become someone else's "widow." If Elena believes she's already won this game, I'll let her watch from the front row as a woman with nothing left to lose burns it all down. My name is Serafina. Remember it. Because I am about to become the reckoning none of them saw coming.

Ten years with Don Maximus. I went from the crazy girl who demanded his "undying loyalty" at gunpoint to Chicago's perfect Donna. When Maximus took the casino's hottest stripper to his private room, I didn't lose my mind. Instead, I tossed the woman the keys to a Manhattan penthouse. When Maximus's new flame threw a tantrum at a yacht party, I didn't bat an eye. Instead, after she slapped a waiter in a fit of pique, I made the police problem go away. When Maximus fought with one of his girls, I'd even send her a limited-edition Birkin to smooth things over. And today, Maximus is busy fucking his hot new toy in the study, while another pregnant mistress stands on the estate's rooftop, threatening to jump just to see him. And I'm still the one in my red-bottom heels, calmly going to clean up his mess. The mistress screamed, desperate. "I'm not having this baby! Get Maximus!" I took a sip of my wine, my voice bored. "He's busy today. You have the baby, and I'll make sure seven figures show up in your offshore account." My indifference set her off. She grabbed my wrist, her grip like iron. "You're pathetic, Angelina! There was a time he wouldn't even look at another woman because of you. He slaughtered an entire family for you. When you were shot, he knelt in the pouring rain outside a church, begging God to take his life for yours! But now? You can't even get into his bed. All you can do is stand here and play the gracious Donna!" Her nails left red marks on my skin, but the smile on my face didn't crack. Did she really think a little drama would change anything? I wasn't playing the gracious Donna. I was just done. And I was finally ready to let Maximus go.

Valerie Palmer, who has been in a secret marriage with me, brings her secretary, Thomas Freeman, to the family gathering. After she has half a glass of red wine, Thomas snatches the glass over and downs the rest. When Thomas takes a bite out of the pickled cucumber and deems it too sour, he feeds it to Valerie right away, who swallows it without a second thought. Having witnessed everything, I hand the divorce agreement to Valerie. She looks at me coldly. "Is it really necessary for you to do this? Thomas is just a secretary." I can't hold it back anymore. "You never even touched the glasses that I've used before, and yet you could eat something that was coated in his saliva?" Valerie responds by throwing the papers in my face. "You call yourself a mature adult even though all you do is feel jealous all the time! Don't you think this is embarrassing?" She seems to be used to not taking me seriously at all. Even now, she still thinks that I'm just throwing a tantrum. I lower my head, a bitter smile gracing my face. "Valerie Palmer, I want a divorce from you."

In the seventh year of my long-distance relationship with my girlfriend Quinn Summers, I quit my job without telling her and traveled more than six-hundred miles to Oceanton. I only wanted to surprise her and ask her to marry me. When the receptionist heard I was looking for Quinn, her expression slightly shifted. "Our CEO Ms. Summers is still in a meeting. Please wait a moment." I was surprised. Quinn had never told me she had been promoted. During our video call last week, she had even complained about how stressful work was and how far away a promotion felt. When I turned around, I heard the receptionist whispering to her coworker. "So… This is the guy Ms. Summers is keeping on the side? Seriously, he has some nerve, coming all the way to the company." "If Mr. Gomez finds out Ms. Summers is cheating during their marriage, this is going to be very bad." I was about to turn back and tell them they had the wrong person. Quinn was not married, and I was her real boyfriend of ten years. But before I could speak, a man in a black suit walked in from the revolving door. The receptionists immediately fell silent and greeted him with deep respect. "Mr. Gomez." The man was on the phone, his voice low and gentle. "Honey, I'm downstairs. You must come with me to your prenatal checkup today!" A clear female voice came through the phone, agonizingly sweet. "I know, honey. The meeting's almost over. Wait for me at the guest lounge." I had listened to that voice for seven years. I knew it far too well. It was my girlfriend, Quinn.

Grandpa will be announcing his will at his birthday banquet. Apparently, I only possess the right to inherit the family's assets if I'm in a stable relationship with someone. I beg my girlfriend, Hannah Samson, countless times to have our relationship publicized. But she keeps using her overtime shift as an excuse. Today, she finally yields to me. "Alright. You should attend the family meeting first. I'll be there soon." The moment I step into the manor on my own, I hear my relatives' mocking laughter surrounding me. "You keep claiming that you're busy with your career every day. To think that you can't even bring your own girlfriend to this meeting! You do realize that your inheritance right depends on your partner, right? "Don't tell me you lied to us about having a girlfriend!" I clutch my phone tightly, feeling my palm going clammy with sweat. Time slowly ticks past. Just as Grandpa is about to read his will out loud, someone pushes the front door open abruptly. I turn around in delight, only for my smile to freeze on my face. Isaac Letterman, the fake heir, smiles wanly at everyone, his hand still laced with Hannah's. "Sorry, we're late." As I stare at the duo, I feel my heart plunging into an icy abyss. Then, I turn back to look at the relatives, who were mocking me earlier. "You said you wanted to see my girlfriend, right? That's her right there."

This bottle girl, new to the club, always demanded I serve her. And only me. She was good for business, so I let it slide. Then, one weekend, two in the morning. I’m in bed in the penthouse. She calls, barking orders at me. “I’m in the ‘Paradise’ suite. Get up here with a bottle and get me right.” I almost laughed. The girl was an idiot. “It’s 2 AM. Are you ordering me around? I’m not your bodyguard or your dealer.” She sneered, her voice dripping with arrogance. “My cousin is the club manager. You should feel honored to serve me. By the way, your ‘protection fee’ is late this month. Get your ass over here now, or I’ll have my cousin dump you in the Chicago River.” Oh. She had no idea. The docks along the Chicago River… they’re mine. All of them.

After our rivals murdered my parents, I had to become something else. A fortress. I held the Blackthorne family together all by myself. My younger sister, Anna, couldn't stand the life—the blood and the fear. She cried, begging me to send her away, to college overseas. I said yes. And the first thing she does when she gets back? She goes to the Commission and accuses me of stealing her inheritance. She said it with this entitled, high-and-mighty tone. "My boyfriend, Victor, the Falcone heir, says I can't lose." "I just want what's mine," she said. "Half of the $8.7 million Mom and Dad left, and half of the Blackthorne family's power. Fair is fair, right?" But she knew damn well she'd already blown through every last cent of that $8.7 million. And the extra ten million I'd earned for her on top of that. That's when it hit me. My sacrifice hadn't just been for nothing. I'd raised a goddamn wolf, and she was insatiable. So this time, I let the kindness die. I gave her a cold smile. "My sweet, naive sister. It's time I showed you how a real Godmother plays."

After billionaire Jonathan Whitman lost his fortune, his wife Selene had no choice but to work as a maid in a mansion to make ends meet. She scrubbed toilets. She cleaned pools. She hauled out garbage—right up until she lost the baby she was carrying. And then she discovered her husband's affair with Vivienne, her employer. She was sleeping with Selene's husband, carrying her husband's baby, wearing million-dollar rubies, sleeping in silk, dining on imported delicacies. The moment she walked in on them, Selene snapped and pushed Vivienne. But Jonathan, to protect her, had Selene arrested and held in detention. He thought she'd come out of it humbled. Quiet. Tamer. What he didn't know was that the moment she walked free, she filed for divorce. She walked out of the basement studio they'd shared without a backward glance. What he also didn't know: he had a genetic infertility condition. And the only woman on earth whose body could give him a child—was Selene.

I’ve got a killer hourglass figure and siren eyes. In Hollywood, I’m the ultimate sex symbol. But after five years in this town, not a single producer would dare lay a finger on me. Because the man in my bed is Don Vincenzo, the most ruthless mafia boss in New York. Seven years together. Every time we finished, he’d hold me close, kiss me, and carry me to the bathroom to clean me up. I naively thought I’d be the only woman by his side. That I'd even be his Donna. Until the night of my 28th birthday. After the family dinner, I heard him sneer to his underboss: "Chloe is fun to play with, but for my Donna, I have other options." In that instant, I ripped out my cheap, pathetic heart. I became exactly what he wanted: a perfect mistress who only cared about his money. But Vincenzo didn't seem to like that. His dark, dangerous eyes locked onto mine. "Besides this Manhattan penthouse, is there really nothing else you want from me?" I wrapped my arms around his neck, letting out a fake gasp of surprise. "You mean I can pick out a Ferrari, too?"

My daughter, Nora Tyler, has congenital heart disease. When her disease relapses once again, I scoop her into my arms and travel to the hospital on foot on a rainy night. By the time I reach the hospital, I accidentally see the note my husband, Lionel Tyler, has left for the doctor. "I don't care what you do, be it dragging the time out to kill Nora or failing to save her life. No matter what, Nora isn't allowed to leave the hospital alive! "Chloe's due date is almost here. I want you to pay more attention to her. Only her child has the right to become the first child of the Tyler family." I can only stare at the note with bloodshot eyes. At that time, the medical staff has already wheeled Nora out from the ER. A white sheet can be seen draping over her body. When I was still pregnant with Nora, Lionel had taken leave for two years just to take care of me. He truly viewed me as the apple of his eye back then. After I gave birth to Nora, he even purchased an island and named it after her. My favorite gardenias filled every inch of that island. The Lionel who once refused to take any other woman but me as his wife and had prioritized me more than his own life… is also the same man who has personally killed his own daughter just because his first love, Chloe Meyer, is pregnant. My heart has officially died. After leaving a divorce agreement behind, I go home and inherit my family business. Now, Lionel can never hope to reach me ever again.

After suffering a devastating blow to the head, I unexpectedly regained my memories. Before I could share the good news with my wife, I overheard a conversation between her and the doctor. "Ms. Morgan, Mr. Johnson is showing signs of recovering his memory again. Do you still want us to inject him with the neurotoxin? This is already the tenth time. Mr. Johnson's father already went to prison after taking the blame for you, and his sister was forcibly committed to a psychiatric hospital. I know you want to protect Liam, but there's no need to do this to Mr. Johnson." "If Damien regains his memory, Liam's role in the hired attack will be exposed. His life will be ruined. Liam is innocent. He just wanted to prove himself. "Besides, Liam and I are about to get married. I won't allow anything to go wrong. "I promised Liam that he and Ben are the only family I have. I will never let them down. It doesn't matter if Damien becomes a fool. I'll hire the best caregivers and look after him as a cripple for the rest of his life. "Let me spend the rest of my life making it up to him." My entire body trembled in agony. So the people who destroyed my family had been right beside me all along. My father was sent to prison on false fraud charges. While trying to clear his name, I was attacked and left with memory loss. Since everything was nothing more than my own wishful thinking, I'll give them exactly what they want.

Bored of having nothing to do at home, I hide my identity and apply for a job as a designer at the company my son, Jonathan Grady, runs. A few months later, I'm informed that the company wants to optimize its workforce, and I'm the first to get axed. "Why?" "Because you're menopausal. You can't get pregnant." Hearing that makes me scoff. What kind of absurd reason is that? "A designer uses her brains to do her job, no? When did a womb become so important?" I point at Sasha Johnson, who'd been hired before me and was now sitting at her desk, snacking on popcorn instead of working. "Her line compositions are still a complete mess, and she spends all of her time watching TV shows in the office. But just because she's pregnant, she's not included in the company's layoffs?" Fiona Lewis, the HR manager, looks at me as though I'm an idiot. "How can an old hag like you, who still has to work, compare yourself to her? She's pregnant with the boss' baby, you know. She's the future Mrs. Grady! The money we save from having to pay your salary can go toward buying her prenatal supplements." I freeze in shock. Did my son knock up one of his employees? But he told me he didn't want to have any kids!

My brother Christopher owned a boutique on Fifth Avenue. I'd gone in, picked out a few pieces, grabbed a silk scarf on the way, and was heading for the door. The clerk behind the register stopped me. "Ma'am, we'll need you to settle this now." I looked up. Her name tag said Yvonne. Unfamiliar face. Probably new. I didn't think much of it. "Just put it on the owner's account," I said politely. "He knows who I am." She gave a little snort through her nose, eyes raking from my hair down to my shoes. "We don't run accounts here. You might have the wrong store." She pushed an itemized bill across the counter. Four hundred thousand dollars. I scanned the line items. Personal Style Consultation. Premium Fitting Service. VIP Client Private Service. Every single charge cost more than the clothes themselves. I let out a short laugh. "I'm a Whitfield. Christopher's my brother. Whatever this is, he can deal with it at home." Her smile got uglier. "Anyone can claim to be a Whitfield, sweetheart. Are you trying to skip out on the bill, or are you just trying to embarrass yourself?" I didn't bother arguing. I pulled out my phone and texted Christopher: [Fire the clerk named Yvonne in the next ten minutes, or I pull every dollar I have in this store.]

During a rainstorm, I wait at a bus stop for three hours, but Joanne Sanders never shows up to keep her promise to pick me up. Just as I'm about to hail a cab, I see her secretary post an update on social media. In the photo is a familiar car dashboard. The caption reads, "Thanks to my boss for driving me home!" In the past, I would have bombarded Joanne with calls and messages, demanding an explanation. But this time, I simply move my finger across the screen and like the post. After I leave without a word, carrying my luggage with me, she panics and searches for me everywhere. She says, "I can change. Please don't leave me."

In the two weeks leading up to our fifth wedding anniversary banquet, my wife's secretary, Ronald Piper, sent me photos of the two of them in bed every single day. I pretend not to know. On the day of the banquet, my wife, Jessica Tuttle, books out an entire hotel and gives a heartfelt speech, saying that I am the person she is most grateful for in this lifetime. Everyone applauds through tears. Over the years, Jessica, the aloof and capable CEO, has flown a thousand miles overnight just to come home and cook me broth when my stomach hurts. And when she is sentenced to imprisonment, I willingly serve two years behind bars in her place without hesitation. To outsiders, we are a perfect couple who are deeply in love with each other. While cutting the cake, I notice the pendant on Ronald's wrist. I had to call in every favor I had to get that pendant for Jessica. Back then, she says to me, "As long as the pendant stays on, our love remains. If it's ever removed, our relationship is over." I look at Jessica, who sighs with a helpless and indulgent expression. "Felix, Ron has been having nightmares lately. He's been down with a fever, too. I lent it to him for a few days to ward off bad luck. Don't argue with a kid over something so small, okay?" She then pats Ronald's shoulder reassuringly and urges, "You should thank Felix. He's always been understanding. It's just a trinket. He wouldn't be reluctant to part with it." Ronald looks at me timidly and says, "Thank you for letting me have it. With it protecting me, I can finally sleep peacefully every night while holding it in my arms. When I get better, I'll give it back to you." My best childhood friend is furious upon hearing this. "How can you turn a blind eye to all this?" he hisses. Of course I can.

"Vera, you are accused of conspiring with the Petrov Group to assassinate the family's future Donna, Sylvia. This tribunal is now in session." In the center of the tribunal, a syringe filled with a dark green liquid glinted under the lights. My former fiancé, Rocco, the new Don of the Corleone family, sat on the dais, disgust plain on his face. "Confess. Let everyone see the monster you are behind that mask." Sylvia leaned against his chest, a faint smile on her lips. She thought I would finally break, my reputation in ruins. Shackled to the accused's chair, a smile of faint relief touched my lips. "Rocco, are you sure you want to do this?" "Use that needle, and there's no going back."

At the company's annual gala, my CEO girlfriend made a special exception for the new intern and let him draw from the prize box as many times as he wanted. The first time, he drew my $300,000 year-end bonus. He blinked at me and laughed. "Sorry, Evan. But you're such a good guy. You won't hold it against me, right?" The second time, he drew my vice president position. My girlfriend, Vanessa Sloane, did not hesitate. She ordered on the spot, "Clear out the vice president's office immediately. From now on, he can transfer over and work as Ryan's assistant." The third time, he drew a public three-minute French kiss with Vanessa. Amid the cheering, Vanessa blushed and kissed him with lingering enthusiasm. Only after she caught sight of my stiff expression did she pull away, still unsatisfied, and say impatiently, "Ryan won the prize. This is a company benefit. You're a grown man. Don't be so petty." I let out a cold laugh, lowered my head, and texted the chairman at corporate headquarters. "Since when does our annual gala include a benefit where the CEO has to kiss someone?" "Dad."