Nouvelles Plot Twists Family Emotions & Romans

The day my brother, Aaron Payne, is abducted by human traffickers, an older woman in our town tells me that if I can come up with 80,000 dollars, I can get him back. Desperate to save him, I return to the home I haven't set foot in for two years and beg my wealthy parents for the money. But they fly into a rage. "We sent you two to the countryside to toughen you up, not to give you an excuse to scam us for money!" "Human traffickers? You really expect us to believe someone could kidnap a child and then just give him back? Stop making up stories." With nowhere else to turn, I hear that I can make money by selling a kidney. So that same day, I go under the knife. As soon as the anesthesia wears off, my parents call. "Steve just told us he lost 80,000 dollars, and then we found out you received the exact same amount in your bank account. We were too soft on you. We've raised a thief!" Without giving me a chance to explain, they hang up and transfer the money straight out of my account. Later, my adopted brother, Steve Payne, walks past me with his arms linked through my parents', grinning from ear to ear. "Mom, Dad, thanks for buying me an 80,000-dollar watch. I'm so lucky to be your son." Is he? Without a word, I slip a missing-person flyer under their windshield wiper. If they can help me find Aaron, I'll gladly let him have that luck instead.

Natalie Jett's first love needs a mobile blood bank. But she's going to drain all the blood from my comatose younger brother due to me not arriving in time. I drop to my knees and beg her desperately. "Micah is already showing signs of waking up. The doctor said he'll die if you keep taking his blood. Take mine instead and leave my brother alone! Please!" But Natalie remains unmoved. She looks coldly at me as I kneel before her on the ground. "This is your punishment for being late. It's only some blood. What's the big deal? "Andy is severely anemic. He's the one who could actually die. Is your brother's life really more important than Andy's?" Ignoring my pleas, she orders her private doctor to increase the rate of the blood draw. Bag after bag of blood is sent to Andy Stone's hospital room. Not long after, my brother's heart stops. He dies after all the blood is drained from his body. When I receive the news of my brother's death, Natalie is celebrating Andy's successful surgery, setting off fireworks across the city that last the entire night. This time, I finally give up all hope. I kneel before Natalie's mother in despair. "I have nothing left to hold on to. From now on, Natalie and I have nothing to do with each other."

To get me out of the way for Simon Luther, the man who steals my position as heir of the Luther family, the three young women my dad took in as children and raised alongside me work together to send me to prison. "Once you get out of jail, one of us will marry you—but on one condition. You'd better take this secret to the grave." To stop me from revealing the truth, the three women even fed me a drug that rendered me mute. As the years go by, the endless and inhumane torment I endure in prison slowly destroys what feelings and affection I have for the three women I once considered my sisters. When we meet again, I watch impassively as the three of them fight to win the auction that gives them the chance to marry Simon. Chuckling, I arrange for the key evidence of Simon's crimes to be put up for auction. The three of them seem to have a thing for making bids. Let's see them scramble to win this one.

Jeremy Stewart, my adopted younger brother, and I have both applied to the same postgraduate program. However, the advisor, Professor Suzanne Graham, tells us there's only one spot left. I hesitate a little. "Will Jem be sad if I get the spot?" The rest of the family laughs. "In situations like this, everything is fair game. We'll be happy no matter who gets it." However, on the day of the interview, Jeremy pulls out the recommendation letter our mother, a renowned academician, has written for him. "My mother says that as long as you give me the spot, she'll vote in favor of your promotion," Jeremy declares. Our father, a businessman, calls Professor Graham as well. "If you give Jeremy the spot, I'll invest 100 million dollars in research funding for your project." Our older sister, an award-winning actress, sends Professor Graham a video. "If you pick Jeremy, I'll recommend your daughter to be the main lead in my next film project." And our younger sister, a singer, sends Professor Graham two VIP concert tickets with backstage access. "Pick Jeremy, and I'll help your son establish a singing career!" I sweep my gaze over Jeremy's smug expression and all the bribes our family has offered. Then, I get up and say a few words to Professor Graham. Professor Graham, who was about to choose Jeremy, points at me instead. "I'm sorry, but I choose him."

On the day of the avalanche, my own brother cut the safety rope around my waist to save his fake sister who had stolen my place in the family. As the snow piled high above me and my body heat began to fade, I cried out to Shawn Lingard, reaching out my stiff, frozen hands. "Shawn! Don't leave me behind, or my adoptive father's men will come for you and blow this whole mountain up!" It had been a year since I was found and brought back to the prestigious Lingard family. I had always played the part of a timid, submissive girl, never talking about my adoptive parents abroad. Therefore, the Lingard family didn't know that the couple who adopted me were the leaders of an international mercenary group. My adoptive father was a master marksman, my adoptive mother was an explosives expert, and I was the beloved little princess in their unit. But my biological brother only laughed coldly as he pulled the rope back. "Stop lying! You're just a country bumpkin, what powerful men could your adoptive father possibly have? "I was kind enough to take you skiing, but you actually dared to compete with Janice? Don't you know she can't handle even the slightest shock?" With that, he grabbed the fake sister and turned to leave. "If your adoptive parents are so impressive, have them send a helicopter to rescue you!" I watched the light above disappear, then used the last of my strength to press the red button on my satellite locator. Little did Shawn know, the moment this signal went out, the entire snowy mountain would become his grave.

I was the real daughter of the Jenkins family, recently brought home, while Coco, the fake, unexpectedly procured the College Entrance Exam Leech System. All she had to do was give a name, and the person's score would be transferred to her exam sheet. She was overjoyed when she mistook me for the star student who had been the top scorer in the city's high school for three years, and quickly put my name in. Then, in the three months leading up to the college entrance exam, she would be watching Youtube videos in class, getting her nails done after school, all while bragging she could get over 700—even with her eyes closed. I warned her that college entrance exams were no joke, but her boyfriend leapt to her defense, snapping at me, "Coco is a genius! What would a bumpkin like you know?!" Our parents were playing favorites as ever, yelling at me too. "Don't get jealous! Coco is a born genius!" They had no idea that there was another Jojo Jenkins at the school, and a boy at that. He was also given guaranteed admission to a prestigious university without needing to take college entrance exam, while I was just an art student who was addicted to drawing. On the day the results were published, Coco even invited the media on her livestream as she checked her score, ready to set her reputation as a young prodigy. I watched her smiling smugly, quietly putting away my arts school admission notice. She liked stealing college entrance exam scores? She had my blessing to steal mine!

Before our marriage, my wife was the kind of woman everyone envied. She was strikingly beautiful and had graduated from a top university. Young as she was, she had already made a name for herself in finance, with a brilliant career ahead of her. I hated women like her: independent, proud, sharp-edged, decisive, and strong-willed. She was the dazzling center of attention wherever she went. So I set about systematically grinding away every last edge she had. After the wedding, I used "taking care of the family" as an excuse to pressure her into leaving a key position in a fast-rising career. I took control of her bank accounts and tamed her into a docile cat that only knew how to say yes. Then I deliberately crushed her confidence, vetoing every decision she made, nitpicking even the smallest daily tasks. I belittled her abilities in front of others and dismissed everything she contributed. Over and over, I wore down her willpower and pride until she had given up every piece of herself. I even made her the CFO of my company and dumped documents on her to sign, ensuring she would be the one to take the fall. I thought I could never lose. Until federal agents knocked on my office door and slapped a stack of evidence on my desk. "Mr. Tyler Hayes, you'll need to come with us." I frowned, flipped through the evidence, and froze. No wonder she had become so obedient. Looking back, the signs had been there all along.

To shield my sister from a street thug's iron bar after she cut class, my right leg was shattered. The infection that followed left the doctors no choice but to amputate. From that day on, I spent ten years in a wheelchair. Consumed with guilt, my sister massaged my stump every single day. My parents wiped their reddened eyes and promised that everything they owned would go to me someday, to make up for what I had lost. Then my sister won the highest international ballet award, and the whole family wept with joy. Before the ceremony, she looked at my wheelchair. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. "This is the greatest moment of my life. If a cripple tags along, what will the press write about me? "Dad, Mom, just this once, let the three of us go together, looking our best. Please?" My parents caved in the end. Before they left, Mom was afraid I might fall, so she lashed me to the wheelchair with hemp rope. "Be good, Audrey. I put all the knives and scissors away. Don't move around. We'll bring you back egg tarts from Belem." I sat obediently in the middle of the living room and watched the front door close, then heard the lock turn from outside. That night, the old electric blanket in the bedroom short-circuited and caught fire. The flames burned their way from the bedroom into the living room. I could not break free of the ropes. I could not reach the door handle. I could not find a single thing sharp enough to cut myself loose. The fire licked up my one remaining leg. The pain was beyond anything I had ever known. I sobbed through the smoke, begging my family to save me. They hung up. On the television, my sister stood in the spotlight, her smile radiant and dazzling.

I had just finished warming up at my adoptive father's boxing gym when I was brought back to my wealthy biological family. When my tanned, heavily muscled self walked into the living room, my biological parents, who had been ready to humiliate me, fell completely silent. They had brought me back because they wanted me to marry the heir of the Lamberts. He was rumored to have a violent temper and had already scared away ten fiancées. The fake heiress was still pretending to cry at first. But the moment she saw my massive biceps, she stopped crying. She nervously hid behind my older brother. "Jack, are you sure Mr. Andrew is abusing Rachel and not the other way around? What if Rachel is the one beating Mr. Andrew to a pulp?" My brother looked down at his skinny wrists. Then he looked at my palm, which could crush a brick with one hand. He silently took a step backward. I jumped up and threw a couple of punches. "I heard this guy has a terrible temper and is unpredictable?" My biological father awkwardly cleared his throat. "Yes. He's pretty violent." I excitedly slapped my thigh. "Whoa, why didn't you tell me sooner? What a coincidence. I was just looking for a decent sparring partner."

After I started college, Mom said she'd send me money in installments. "Lucia, you're an adult now. I want you to learn how to manage money, so I'll give you your living expenses in installments." I figured she meant monthly. Maybe weekly, worst case. Then move-in day came. Mom walked around the cafeteria, checked the prices, and sent $8 to my payment app. I stared at my phone. "Mom, did you send the wrong amount?" She smiled. "Silly girl. That's your lunch money for today. I checked already. Just get the cheapest grab-and-go meal. "From now on, ask me for money before each meal." I froze. So by installments, she didn't mean monthly. Or weekly. She meant one meal at a time. By day three, I stood at the breakfast counter, unable to afford a $1.50 egg. Mom still wouldn't send me anything. "I just bought Ryan a house outright yesterday. I don't have extra cash right now. Skipping one meal won't kill you." The cafeteria worker looked at me with shock and pity. Her expression crushed what was left of my pride. That day, clutching the egg the worker had given me, I started looking for a job online. But once I stopped needing Mom, she panicked.

I had been missing for twenty-five years when the Whitmore family finally found me. My mother sobbed in my arms. Vivienne told me she had never stopped searching. My father promised that Whitmore House would always be my home. I believed them. I gave up the career I had built and moved to Boston. I never resented them for continuing to love Sebastian. For twenty-five years, while everyone believed I was dead, he had been the son who stayed by their side. But they soon learned that all they had to say was, “You’re stronger than he is,” and I would step aside. So Sebastian remained the heir. He kept the East Wing and used my work to secure his place on the board. I lived in the guest suite and waited for promises that were always supposed to be fulfilled later. Then, at the dinner formally welcoming me home, the family attorney handed me a trust agreement. All I had to do was sign away any future claim to the inheritance, shares, and voting rights, ensuring that my return would never threaten anything Sebastian already had. My mother took my hand. “You wouldn’t take away the only home he’s known for twenty-five years over a piece of paper, would you?” They expected me to understand, just as I had for the past year. Instead, I returned the unsigned agreement to the attorney. “I came back because you said you loved me, not because I wanted to take anything from him.” “But if your love always requires me to be the one who gives way—” I stood. “Then I don’t want this family anymore.”

I was a stickler for rules. When I was in elementary school, we were supposed to vote for class president, but the teacher simply appointed the principal's daughter instead. Hence, I followed the school rule that whoever received the most votes would win and brought all 42 students to the principal's office to hold a proper vote. After I started working, my boss handed me a 1,500-dollar invoice and told me to claim 15,000 dollars in expenses. I told him that wasn't allowed under company policy, but he said that, in this company, the boss' word was the only rule that mattered. "You need to learn to be flexible," he claimed. "Otherwise, the company may as well replace you with someone more obedient." I nodded, wrote his exact words in the signature section, and sent a copy of the invoice to the tax authorities. "This is a new rule the company has added. It's not up to me. I'm sure you can review it." After that, no one ever asked me to break the rules again. That changed when the Collins family found me, 25 years after I went missing. On the day they officially welcomed me back into the family, I discovered that Blair, their adopted daughter, was listed ahead of me in the family trust as their eldest child. "Mom and Dad put my name there when they adopted me. It'd be difficult to change it now," Blair Collins claimed. "Surely you don't mind?" I looked her straight in the eye. "Are you asking me to accept being listed after you in the family trust so you can keep your status as the eldest daughter? Or are you saying you have no intention of giving up the inheritance and assets that legally belong to me as their firstborn daughter?" The smile on Blair's face froze. My father frowned. "It's just the order of the names. Do you really think we'd take away your inheritance?" I looked up at him. "So am I supposed to understand that my parents know perfectly well that the family rules say the legitimate eldest daughter inherits the family business, yet they're

On my birthday, my fiancé, Vincent Drake, gave me an expired anti-aging serum. Meanwhile, my sister, Diana Ashford, wore the luxury diamond necklace he'd given her. She stood on stage, cutting into a custom cake he'd ordered for her worth over thirty thousand dollars. Just like every year, my parents and my fiancé were right by her side. They toasted to another happy year for her. From my corner, I stared at the anti-aging serum in my hands. It wasn't even meant for someone my age. The "sample" sticker on the back hadn't been fully peeled off. I shared the same birthday as my sister, but I was always the one who got overlooked. Even the event staff each got a slice of cake. But by the time they got to me, there was none left.

Three years into our marriage, my husband, Derek, confessed that he'd met his true love. He sat across from me, eyes brimming with sincerity. "I was too young back then. You were the only person I ever dated, and I rushed into marriage. "It wasn't until I met Vivian that I understood what real love is. "Just sign the divorce papers already. Set me free." I glanced at the scar on his temple. Without a word, I signed the papers.

Liam Brooks and his older twin brother, Noah, looked exactly alike, but their lives couldn't have been more different. Noah was the CEO of Brooks Group. Liam was an ordinary office worker. All because Liam was the son his family had cast aside. We met when neither of us had much, supported each other through the hard times, and eventually married. During our three years of marriage, Liam kept telling me he could never measure up to his brother or give me a better life. He was afraid I'd look down on him. I told him I didn't care if we lived in a rental apartment forever, as long as our hearts were together. He gave me all his money and all his love, and I thought that was what happiness looked like. Then, by accident, I found his other phone. It was the latest iPhone. On it, another woman called him "sweetheart" and "Noah", and complained that the newest designer bag still hadn't arrived. I didn't know why she was calling him Noah, but I knew one thing: Liam had lied to me. He'd enjoyed a better life all along. He'd simply left me out of it. If his heart had already strayed, it was time to leave a marriage I'd been the only one believing in.

Before my mother died, she arranged a marriage for me. My bride-to-be was Rosalind Young, Kingsford's most formidable financial tycoon. Before I married her, I added three clauses to the prenuptial agreement. First, no feelings. Our marriage was purely business. Second, she could live her life however she pleased, while I'd live mine. Third, I would step aside immediately if her true love ever came along. Nevertheless, I would be getting double the alimony. Rosalind was quite pleased that I knew my place. Our marriage was a peaceful one until the day a teenage girl who bore a striking resemblance to her knocked on the door of our mansion and calmly said, "Sir, I'm Rosalind's daughter. She raised me elsewhere. I'm 17."

My sister, Nancy Wood, wanted to be the family's only child, so my mother had my name changed and handed my identification documents over to my grandmother. She even told me I had to pay for everything if I wanted to live under their roof. The change and coupons Nancy got from her shopping were the sole source of allowance I'd get. If she saved 30 dollars from her shopping trips, I would get 30 dollars next month. It was the last day for all students to enter their applications for college. I begged my sister to let me use her computer. She extended her hand. "You have to pay me 20 bucks." I fished all the money out of my pocket. I only had 19 dollars. So, I hastily blurted in a panic, "I'm only one dollar short. Please!" Nancy arched her eyebrow at me and shook her head. "Don't even think about it! It's 20 bucks and not a penny less! If you can't afford it, then don't use it! It's not as if someone's pointing a gun at you for you to go to college!" My mother watched at the sidelines impassively. Then, she took Nancy's side. "She's right. You remember the rules. You can't use our stuff for free!" Time was running out. I barged into my room to scrounge for money. Fortunately, I finally found a dollar in the corner of my bed. Then, I charged right at the computer, ignoring Nancy's sullen mood. The notification froze me to my bones. "Application time is up." It expired just a minute ago. My eyes were glued to the screen, my blood turning to ice under my skin. I could distantly hear my mother comforting Nancy. "She's just some distant relative. You shouldn't get worked up over her." A surge of bitterness welled up inside me as I sent a message to my teacher, "I'll go to Lorantia." After all, I was nothing but a relative. So, I should know my place and stop troubling them any further.

My mom is the kind of person who values achievement above all else. Consequently, just because I opened my eyes a little later than my twin brother, Alan Barton, when we were born, she decided I was the inferior twin—even treating me to watery baby cereal while Alan got the best of everything. From then on, Alan always came out ahead. The whole family bent over backward to give him every advantage, while I had no one to rely on but myself. After a lot of hard work, I finally achieved my goal on the SATs, beating Alan for the very first time. But when I arrived at the college acceptance party, Alan was already holding court and toasting the guests. When I broke down, sobbing and screaming at Mom over her blatant favoritism, Alan casually mentioned that he had already been accepted to Swafford College early and only took the SATs for fun; ergo, I still lost. Mom looked at me with utter disappointment, calling me worthless. Furious and heartbroken, I ran away from home. I put myself through college and built a career entirely on my own. Just as my life is finally starting to come together, I got diagnosed with cancer, threatening both my health and livelihood. After five years of complete estrangement, I swallow my pride to ask Mom for help. Instead, Alan steps in and destroys my last chance of survival.

I have always been the type to take people at their word. In fact, I've never been good at reading between the lines. Back in middle school, a girl deliberately slipped a cheat sheet into my hand. "Hold this for me. The teacher's coming," she whispers. She probably expects me to panic and stuff it into my pocket. Instead, I raise my hand. "This belongs to her. She just put it in my hand," I declare. Years later, after I start working, a new manager begins auditing the accounts. My colleague, Wendy Boyer, keeps stomping on my foot under the table. Lowering her voice, she whispers, "Just take the blame for now. You're still new, so he won't come down too hard on you." I nod, stand up, and look straight at our manager. "Wendy's the one who's been taking kickbacks. She said newcomers wouldn't be punished too harshly. You're new too, aren't you? Why don't you take the blame for her?" From that day on, no one in the office ever tried whispering anything to me again. That lasted until my biological parents finally found me and brought me home. They even threw a belated homecoming banquet to formally welcome me into the family. My supposed sister, Adeline Holmes, completely ignores the place card with my name on it and takes the seat between my parents. She loops her arm through Mom's and smiles at me. "I've sat here for the past 21 years. You don't mind if I sit here, do you?" she asks. Everyone waits for me to take the hint and quietly move to another seat. Instead, I look at her in all seriousness and ask, "Why would you think I'd mind? Is it because this is where the biological daughter is supposed to sit?" She presses her lips together and says nothing. So, I continue, "If that's the case, you've already had it for 21 years. Isn't it about time you gave it back to me?"

Every month on the 15th is the day I swap lives with Melody Foster. 18 years ago, a hospital mix-up places our IVF embryos in each other's mothers. After the truth comes out, my biological parents want their real daughter, and my adoptive parents want theirs. They arrange for Melody and me to rotate between the two homes on a monthly basis, switching every 15th. From then on, I become the burden neither family wants. In whichever home Melody stays, there are endless snacks and drinks, thousands of dollars in monthly allowance, and the sunny bedroom is always reserved for her. In whichever home I stay, there's nothing but plain meals and a windowless storage room. 18 years later, I find out I have kidney failure, and Melody turns out to be a compatible donor. My adoptive parents toss me a form to sign away my right to treatment. "We raised you, and that's more than enough. Go ask your real parents for money. You're not getting our daughter's kidney, so don't even think about it." My biological parents fall to their knees, begging. "We know we've failed you, but losing you we can live with. Melody is our whole world!" Just then, I get a call from the hospital. "Sorry, we mixed up the records again. The one with kidney failure is actually Melody." Everything clicks into place. I sell the jewelry my grandmother left me, buy a camera and a full set of gear. From now on, I'll be a lone traveler, roaming wherever the road takes me.