Plot Twists Entertainment Circle Short Stories & Novels

I was the last person you'd expect to find on Manhattan's Upper East Side. My parents, Grant and Helena Sinclair, were fashion royalty, and size zero was their religion. But I'd been overweight since childhood, and there was nothing they could do about it. By the time I was five, I weighed far more than other children my age and ate like a bottomless pit. My parents called me "Meatball" in disgust and shipped me off to live with my grandmother, Margaret Sinclair, on a farm deep in rural Texas. It wasn't until I won a full scholarship to Columbia that I finally earned the right to return to their New York penthouse. My father, a fashion mogul, took one look at me and frowned with disgust. "An XXXL hoodie, oversized sunglasses, and a black face mask. "You look like a walking trash bag. Are you too ashamed to show your face?" My mother, editor-in-chief of a Vogue-caliber fashion magazine, scoffed. "She probably saw Isabella with us at Paris Fashion Week and knew she'd look terrible standing next to her. "As if being fat weren't bad enough, she's got an awful personality, too." My sister, Isabella Sinclair, hurried over with feigned warmth and took my hand. "Your weight doesn't define you. There's no need to feel inferior to me." I was about to take off my mask, but my hand froze.

I once made a promise to the top actress in the industry. If I publicly proposed to her 99 times on livestreams, she would, on the hundredth, officially launch our relationship. But when the hundredth proposal came, she was on a private yacht kissing a new rising actor. Her smile had been so sweet and carefree. I became a complete joke. Feeling guilty, she texted me: [I will say yes on your 101st proposal.] She entered my livestream, looking like a goddess had descended to earth. As she looked on, I lit all one hundred love letters I had ever written for her, as well as the stomach cancer diagnosis I had hidden inside. “There will be no 101st time, Miss Ford.”

During the live boyband auditions, I won the popularity vote by a landslide and was given the position of the main singer. Another member of the boyband suddenly laughed as he patted me on the shoulder. "Jordan, I was the one who accompanied you to get stamina supplements after you overdid it in bed with your rich married lover. Now that we're in the same boyband, please look out for me!" Immediately, the phrase 'The Boyband's One-Minute Man' was seen everywhere online. Even our mentor chimed in, trying to get me kicked out of the band. I had no choice but to call my mother when I was unable to prove myself innocent. "Mom, I don't want to debut in a boyband anymore. Let me go solo and send the rest of them off to labor away their lives at the factory!"

After dating me for a decade, Alfred Rodriguez officially admitted that he was in a relationship with someone else. It was not me but a popular young actress.Exhilarated, their fans created an online buzz about their dating. I posted a diamond ring on my Facebook, announcing that I'm getting married. Alfred called me."Delete that post. Don't even think about forcing me to marry you in this way. I've just got my reputation in the entertainment circle and announced a relationship. I can't marry you now..." "Mr. Rodriguez, I'm marrying someone else. Come to my wedding party if you're free."I hung up. Alfred went mad. He called me countless times that night. On my wedding day, he turned up with red eyes and asked if I'd elope with him. What? How dare this guy seduce someone else's fiancée in public! What a pervert!

Vivian Hart, the newly crowned Best Actress whose captivating eyes had made her a sensation, was accepting an award for her charity work when my doctor told me I had two months to live. It was stomach cancer, and the treatment costs was far beyond what I could pay. Then Vivian called me. "Do you regret it?" she asked. "Now that I've made something of myself, do you regret leaving me?" I held the hospital bill against my chest and made myself sound shameless. "Vivian, I could really use some money. Since you're so generous with your charity work, why don't you give me $200,000?" Her voice turned to ice. "Go to hell. I never want to see you again." She blocked me everywhere. What she didn't know was that when she lost her sight all those years ago, I was the one who secretly gave her my corneas.

At the recording studio of a divorce reality show, when Logan Barnes, the superstar, catches a fallen headset for me, he subconsciously takes my hand and kisses it. The thing is, the livestreaming camera is still rolling. The kiss leaves the entire Internet in chaos. After all, I'm not Logan's ex-wife in this reality show. Everyone can't wait to see me break down and get jealous to the point that I'll keep pestering my actual ex-husband, Eddie Hancock. But right after the reality show is over, Logan and I become the most envied Internet couple.

After I announced my exit from the music industry, the public response was overwhelmingly positive. The only person who voiced his objection was my girlfriend's rumored lover, the up-and-coming songwriter Lucas Zacker. He put on a show of sincerity in front of a crowd of reporters. "It's all a misunderstanding. Matthew is an irreplaceable talent in the music industry. I sincerely hope he returns to the stage." I shut off my phone and turned a blind eye to his public plea. In my past life, one of my songs had been identical to his supposedly original single. As such, netizens accused me of plagiarism, cursing me and wishing death upon my family. Frustrated, I posted the entire creation process online, but it couldn't stand up to the timeline. His new song had been released ten minutes ahead of mine. Just because of the ten-minute difference, netizens sent me photoshopped mourning portraits of myself and even went so far as to come to my house and vandalize it with paint. The relentless cyberbullying went on for years, and it drove me into a deep depression. My parents exhausted their life savings trying to clear my name, only for crazed fans to set our house on fire, causing my parents to burn to death. In the end, when his song won an award, I jumped off a building. But who would have guessed that when I opened my eyes again, I was reborn on the very day the new song was set to release.

For ten years, I stand by Robert Lopez's side, watching him rise from the trenches of obscurity to the blinding heights of superstardom. But on the night he clinches the Best Actor award, he drops to one knee and proposes to a starlet he's known for less than ten days. Those eyes that are so full of love and devotion, no matter who they're looking at, turn cold and threatening for the first time. "Danielle, I've slept with her, so I need to take responsibility. You're willing to stay by my side without a title or a promise, but she can't. She needs a sense of security." A bitter laugh escapes me. That's when I finally understand that love has nothing to do with time. But hear this, Robert. Just because I've waited for you for ten years doesn't mean I deserve to be treated like trash or that you're the only man for me.

On the day of my wedding, the video I had painstakingly prepared was suddenly replaced with intimate photos of my fiancé and my foster sister, Lindsey Remmington. Within minutes, it hit the top of the trending list. Overnight, I, a celebrated actress, became the abandoned bride of a wealthy family and a public laughingstock. Just when I thought I'd reached rock bottom, Connor Presley, the heir of Elluel City's most powerful family and the boy I'd grown up with, returned from abroad. In front of flashing cameras, he knelt with a diamond ring and proposed, silencing every rumor and every sneer. After we married, we appeared inseparable, our affection the picture of perfection. The only flaw was his infertility—his condition made it nearly impossible for me to conceive. For three long years, I underwent countless rounds of IVF. At last, I became pregnant. Connor was overjoyed. To celebrate, he threw an extravagant party in honor of our long-awaited child. But in the middle of the revelry, one of his closest friends, drunk and unguarded, muttered in Russian, "Connor, you've gone too far. Just because Lindsey was afraid pregnancy would ruin her figure, you put the zygote into Rachel's body and let her carry the baby for you two? If she ever finds out the truth, you'll regret it for the rest of your life." Connor's expression didn't waver. "This was Lindsey's only wish. I had to grant it," he replied coolly. "Besides, having a child with Lindsey has always been my dream. Only her child deserves to be the heir of the Presley family. The days ahead are long—I'll make it up to Rachel, eventually." I stood frozen, my body trembling uncontrollably. That night, I made an appointment for an abortion. When Connor stormed into the hospital, raging like a madman, I looked up at him with chilling calm and said, "I understand Russian."

When I threw myself in front of a falling stage light to save my adoptive father, movie star Richard Crane, I came close to being disabled for life. Before they wheeled me into surgery, he gripped my hand, his eyes red-rimmed. He'd always kept his distance from me, but putting my life on the line for him had finally moved him. He promised that if I lived, he'd make me his bride. I thought he had finally returned the love I'd kept hidden for all those years. But after struggling through rehab, I learned that Richard was engaged to Hollywood's rising star, Daisy Morgan. When I arrived at the engagement party, the press was already waiting with cameras, hoping to catch me making a scene. Richard immediately stepped in front of Daisy and ordered his bodyguards to stop me. "Eve, Daisy's innocent. Don't hurt her." Calmly, I held out an audition invitation from a top director. "I crossed the line before. Consider this opportunity my engagement gift to you." Camera flashes erupted around us. Surprise flickered across Richard's face. Swallowing my pain, I gave him a gracious smile. "Since you're starting a new family, please sign the papers to end your legal guardianship. And while you're at it, give me back the screenplays my mother left me. From now on, we're nothing to each other." In my last life, I used the fact that I'd taken a near-fatal blow for him to pressure him into coming back to me. Because of that, the entire internet branded Daisy a homewrecker and tore her apart, sending her into a deep depression. Furious, Richard blacklisted me and confined me to a remote estate, claiming I needed rest. The endless isolation drove me to a mental breakdown, and I died there. Meanwhile, Richard stood by Daisy's side as she won the Oscar for Best Actress for a film based on my mother's screenplay. Now that I'd been given a second chance at life, I finally saw everything clearly. I would never expect anything from this man again.

I was the most cheated-on man in our entire circle. People online had even put together a compilation of every time my wife had cheated on me. Whenever Vanessa Kane started threatening suicide, everyone knew I'd been cheated on again. The first time, she wanted to go on vacation with a college student she was keeping. She stood on the roof of an eighteen-story building and forced me to get on my knees and beg her. The second time, she wanted to celebrate her male assistant's birthday. She grabbed a shard of glass and screamed that she'd slit her wrists. When I tried to stop her, the glass severed a tendon in my hand. The third time, she wanted to win over a male model from a club, and she was dead set on becoming a nun. It went on and on. Then came the ninety-ninth time, when she said she'd found the love of her life. To sleep with Lucas Reed, she lost the baby she'd been carrying for twenty weeks, then threw what was left of our unborn child down in front of me. "You can forget it. I'm never having your baby as long as I live." Heartbroken and done, I laid a divorce agreement in front of her parents. "Let's get divorced. I'm letting Vanessa go."

On my first wedding night, my wife, Stella Turner the top actress, abandons me and sleeps with her ex-boyfriend instead. When she comes home, she reeks of alcohol and keeps calling Adam Green's name while holding me. The next day, Adam publishes a post on social media, saying, "Sometimes, some love is destined to be left unspoken and buried in the sands of time. I wish you all the happiness in the world." His fans leave angry comments below the post, criticizing me for being the third wheel. My manager, Josh Mendez, is almost going mad with anxiety. I scroll on my phone languidly and casually say, "Why so anxious? Post their intimate photos from last night online and say that I, the legally wedded husband, caught them in the act. Remember to blur the photo, but make sure people can still make out Stella's tattoo on her collarbone."

It was a hot day, with temperatures hitting a scorching 113°F when I was chased out of Nox Suites, the duplex where top celebrities stayed. Indoors, Stan Herbert, A-list star and my showmance partner, was ranting on the phone. "What's the point of a PR relationship with my current popularity?! Taking it into real life? Faking it online for six months was bad enough—you're sending her to my doorstep?! What, is our talent agency a matchmaking agency instead?! You're even sending me some nobody!" Once he hung up, he kicked me out of his door with my luggage, leaving me squatting by a sidewalk as I tried to clean up the mess. Six months ago, I signed a "slave contract" with the agency to try to pay for my mom's medical bills. I thought I could just get by, but I couldn't even last a year. Rummaging through my coins but finding not even fifty bucks, I got yet another call from the hospital to pay up. Having no one to turn to, I swiped through my contacts and ultimately texted my online boyfriend from two years ago. [I have no place to go and no money left.] Suddenly, I received a notification of a wire transfer of $100,000 into my account, followed by a text message from him. [Come over, babe. The key's behind the fire extinguisher.] Still, I had to walk while using GPS navigation and was drenched in sweat when I finally realized that I had just returned to Nox Suites.

For eight years, I'd managed the career of my boyfriend, Aiden White, a famous celebrity. I was also a partner at Veyra Media and the one pulling the strings behind his career. But on our anniversary trip, Aiden and one of the company's top influencers left me behind at a hotel near a volcano. They drove for forty minutes before they even realized I wasn't with them. When Aiden finally answered my call, he sounded more annoyed than concerned. "Scarlett, why didn't you get in the car? We need to hike to the crater by five, or we'll miss the blue flames! We're already almost there. I can't turn around and drive all the way back for you!" "Scarlett can find a ride and meet us here," Karina said in the background. "You know she can take care of herself. She'll be fine." In the past, I would've swallowed my hurt and rushed to catch up with them. But this time, I stared at the moon in the distance and realized I didn't want to chase after Aiden anymore. I pulled up the itinerary I'd spent weeks planning and canceled every flight and hotel booking. Then I booked a new trip to Veythira, a quiet coastal town I'd always dreamed of visiting. Aiden had never wanted to go. He thought it was too remote and had nothing worth seeing. I was done following him. From now on, I'd choose my own path.

Eight years after I married that award-winning actor, he publicly declared he was dating the top starlet, Celine James. He even posted a picture of the two of them celebrating their adopted “baby’s” birthday. I did not call him to interrogate him as usual. Instead, he hurriedly explained, “It’s just a pet we adopted. As its ‘dad’, I have to be there for its birthday.” I said calmly, “Rather than adopting a furbaby, why don’t we get a divorce? Then you can have an actual baby with her.”

As the upcoming tour approached, the dance troupe suddenly revoked my position as the lead dancer. Anxious to get an explanation in person, I lost my footing due to my distracted state and tumbled down the stairs. While enduring the sharp pain and preparing to call for emergency services, a notification popped up on my phone screen: “Redwood Dance Troupe: Welcome our new lead dancer, Averil Wells, and our generous sponsor, Julian Ford." The accompanying photo featured two smiling faces—my husband of seven years, whom I had secretly married, and his pampered mistress. Julian had his arm wrapped around Averil's waist as he placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. Meanwhile, Averil clung to Julian's neck, her face radiating shyness and delight.

"When is that desperate agent of Ace Davidson's finally going to get lost? Just looking at her makes me sick!" "Seriously! She's always clinging to our Ace. Does she really think she's his wife or something?" My finger stopped scrolling across the tablet. Without changing expression, I closed the fan post full of insults on Ace's fan page. As Ace's secret wife of five years and his agent, I'd grown numb to comments like these a long time ago. I turned around, took a box of arnica cream and a steaming hot lunch from my bag, and handed them to the chubby crew member sitting in the corner. "Pudge, eat first. Put some arnica on your face, too. You don't want it to leave a mark." Because of his heavy build and slow movements, the director had slapped Pudge in front of everyone that day. The entire crew had made a joke out of him. I was the only one who'd offered him any comfort. He took the items, his eyes reddening as he looked at me. "Alisson, thank you... You're a good person. There's something I can't keep from you." With that, he glanced around before pulling out a spare phone with a shattered screen. "Alisson, I accidentally caught this on video yesterday while I was organizing props in the underground parking garage." I tapped the video open. On the screen was Ace's private van, the one I'd paid for myself. The vehicle was rocking violently.