Plot Twists Short Stories & Hypocrisy Face Slapping Novels

On the eve of the SAT exam, I caught a flu and became feverish, and developed a throat infection. My boyfriend's childhood friend, Wendy Cooper, accompanied me to the hospital so that I could receive an IV treatment there. I specifically told Wendy to let the doctor know that I was allergic to penicillin. Once my IV drip was ready, I raised my head to see the word "penicillin" labeled on the medicinal drip bag. Enraged, I summoned a doctor to remove the needle from my arm. At the same time, I demanded angrily, "I'm allergic to penicillin, so why did you still prescribe it to me?" The doctor frowned deeply at Wendy immediately. "Miss, your friend was the one who told us to prescribe you penicillin. She claims that you'll be able to make a quick recovery and that you'll be able to attend the exam without a hitch tomorrow." Wendy looked at me in an aggrieved manner. "I'm so sorry, Yvonne. I just wanted you to get well as soon as possible so that your performance on the exam won't get affected at all. This is all my fault. I'm so stupid that I can't even do one little thing right…" I let out a sigh before telling Wendy to be more careful next time. In order to show how apologetic she was, Wendy offered to pack up the stuff I needed for the SAT exam. In the middle of the exam, when I was filling in the answer sheet, a balled-up note suddenly rolled out of my pencil case. Someone reported me for cheating on the spot. When the invigilator unwrapped the note, he found out that it was completely filled with answers. I was labeled as a cheater on the spot and got kicked out of the exam venue. Because of the severity of this issue, I'd be facing jail time. I turned to glare at Wendy furiously and demanded why she wanted to harm me. But Wendy just rushed into my boyfriend, Christian Shepherd's arms while crying at the top of her lungs. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Yvonne!" Even Christian gave his testimony that I was the one who had prepared the note in an attempt to cheat on the exam. When I tried to drag Wendy over to the police station to have her penmanship tested, she pushed me down the stairs, resulting in my death. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day before the SAT exam starts.

My dad always calls me a lazy bum. It is because I often fall asleep without warning. I sleep in class, while eating, and even while crossing the street. My homeroom teacher, Yvonne Smith, suggests that he take me to a hospital for an examination. But Dad scoffs and says, "He's just staying up all night playing on his phone." After that, he confiscates my phone and removes the lock from my bedroom door. Every time I get sleepy, he slaps me. I don't want to be hit, and I don't want to make Dad angry. So, I start pinching my thighs, pulling out my hair, and even rubbing hand sanitizer spray under my nose to stay awake. But whenever the overwhelming drowsiness hits, nothing can stop it. On the day of the final exams, Dad happens to be one of the invigilators. I bite my lip until it bleeds and silently beg myself inwardly, "Just this once, please stay awake." Still, I fail to fight off the sleepiness. Suddenly, someone flips over my desk. The chair tips with it, and I crash to the floor. My temple slams into the corner of the desk, and darkness instantly floods my vision. Dad stands over me, furious and disappointed. "Zach Davies, are you really so obsessed with sleeping that you don't even care about your final exams? If you're that lazy, then stay down there and keep sleeping!" I lie sprawled across my exam paper as my vision slowly fades away. Dad, I think I am going to sleep for a very long time…

My roommate Sue Lynd had gotten addicted to the tiramisu that went viral lately, and always brought a box back to our room every evening. She always kept telling us how smooth and sweet it tasted, but I never cared for it, until the day before the announcement of postgraduate admissions. I was reviewing past exam papers when I saw the lines scribbled on the sheet. [Your roommate Sue Lynd will ask you to get her tiramisu tonight, and then she will leave the room in a hurry.] [The next day, the cops will arrest you for premeditated bodily harm, and you will be exposed on the internet for poisoning your roommate, drawing public outrage.] [You will miss your postgraduate admission interview, after which that spot falls to Sue.] [The cyberviolence won't stop, with even your parents losing their livelihoods, while you die from mental breakdown and severe depression.] I threw the sheet aside—must be seeing things since my stress had been building up. However, as evening arrived, Sue entered the room, asking in her melodious voice, "Can you get me tiramisu, Zoe?" My brain short-circuited for a moment—the scribble was actually prophetic?! As Sue smiled sweetly and leaned close, I felt the creeps because the most important part of those scribbles still weighed heavily on my mind: [You will miss your postgraduate admission interview, after which that spot falls to Sue.] She wants to destroy my life over a spot at postgraduate admission? My fingers clenched around my pen, and I replied, "Sorry. Can't do."

After the Ritualist declared that Amber would not live past 18, I, a perfectly healthy girl, became the Misfortune Vessel. When Amber broke a leg, my left leg was crippled. When Amber tried to kill herself with shards of glass, the tendons in my hand were severed. I could no longer hold a pen. From childhood to the present, every wound meant for Amber landed on my body. She never stopped testing how far she could go. Skydiving from two miles up. Chasing sharks in deep water. Survival expeditions to the extreme North. Every choice courted death. I cried. I screamed that it hurt. My brothers refused to allow it. "Enough already. It's just a small injury. How could it hurt that much? You're too delicate." "If it hurts, then endure it." So I endured until the day I turned 18. That was when the Shared-Sense System found me. I enabled family sharing, and every single one of them went insane.

During the party celebrating my promotion, I am in the middle of cutting the cake when a positive pregnancy test report is thrown right in my face. Subsequently, my normally compliant boyfriend, Zachary Zolt, pulls my best friend, Caroline Lotter, into his arms. With reddened eyes, he says, "Winnie, for the past three years, I've stayed by your side, giving you all the emotional support you needed and the respect you deserved. "However, Carol is now pregnant with my baby, and I have to take responsibility. You've always been magnanimous, so don't be petty over a minor matter, alright? Let's part amicably." Our colleagues gasp in surprise before shooting me a look, as though I were a malicious woman standing in the way of true love. Setting down the knife, I stare at the passionate father-to-be, completely dumbfounded. Since when has medical technology advanced this far? Years ago, worried about being lonely, I specifically bought him to look after me at home. Yet now he's gone off to ease someone else's loneliness? Except he is just an android I bought—how on earth can he possibly get someone pregnant?

On Valentine's Day, as my girlfriend, Christy Lawrence, and I stroll along a tourist hot spot, a photographer asks me, "Care to take a photo? Oh, you brought someone new again!" I brush it off as a joke, but Christy stops the photographer and says seriously, "He told me I'm his first girlfriend. How can you make up a lie like that?" The photographer snorts. "This young man here brings a different young woman with him to take a photo here every six months. I still have the photos to prove it!" He brings out his phone and shows us a photo of a couple—the man looks exactly like me. All of the surrounding tourists start eyeing me scornfully. I take my phone out and make a call. "Hello, I suspect that someone has stolen my identity. Could you please send a police officer over?"

I was the exclusive seller of a special type of medicine. It had saved many cancer patients’ lives. After working hard for a year, I thought that I would have earned the patients’ gratitude. To my surprise, Peter Lorden, a doctor who also happened to be my rival, slandered me online and said that I was a pharmacist with no principles and scammed cancer patients. The patients who had once expressed their gratitude to me came forward as his witnesses and demanded compensation from me. My reputation was ruined overnight, and I was canceled by everyone online. So, I calmly terminated the distributorship for the special medicine and shut down my pharmacy to open a mini market instead. When their supply ran out, the lung cancer patients, who needed the medicine to stay alive, and Peter both called me while in tears. “Mr. Zimmerman, please continue selling the special medicine!”

At my daughter's high school graduation party, she greeted me with a bouquet containing her wish list. "My dearest Mom! "My life truly begins at eighteen! "This is the first step toward rebuilding my social image and starting an entirely new life! "Thank you, Mom, for supporting me completely!" The list tucked into the bouquet included the newest phone, tablet, laptop, and earbuds. Together, the smaller items cost more than five thousand dollars. But the final line, printed in bold red letters, stabbed into my eyes like the point of a knife: Helena Abernathy must give Chloe Collins a house free of charge. The property will be for Chloe's exclusive use, and no one else will be permitted inside. I stared at the bouquet, while the soul that had died unjustly in my previous life trembled inside my body. Last time, I carried that bouquet home and tossed and turned all night. In the end, I still tried to discuss it with my daughter. "Chloe, about the house... I truly can't afford it right now." "Could we possibly..." Chloe was silent for three seconds before accusing me through tears. "I knew it! You never loved me. You only love yourself!" My photograph, address, and workplace were posted across social media. Then came the online attacks, the doxxing, the red paint splashed across my door, and the suspension from my job. When I stood on a rooftop, unable to endure the abuse any longer, the people below kept recording and shouting: "Jump! If you aren't guilty, why would you jump?" This time, I looked down at the bouquet in my arms and smiled. I didn't want the list. And I didn't want this daughter anymore.

My mother was a top-tier gold digger and had never failed in any of her attempts. Even though she was a single mother, she still managed to marry into the Chandlers, which was one of the most affluent families in the city. However, she got into a car accident and lost her memories less than six months after she made it big. When she woke up, the conniving gold digger was replaced by a sweet, innocent, and naive girl. To make things worse, Yves Chandler's true love had returned. The first day she entered the house, Queenie Samson took a liking to my mother's imperial emerald bracelet. "Yves promised he'd keep this bracelet for me. Time for it to come back to its rightful owner." My mother pulled her hand back, not noticing the triumphant gleam in Queenie's eyes. I tried to stop her, but Queenie was already falling back. Yves came just in time to stop it, and Queenie started bawling her eyes out. "I didn't know you hated people touching your stuff, Mrs. Chandler. I'm sorry." Yves looked at my mother coldly. My mother was dazed and confused. I felt my heart sink. At this rate, we'd be kicked out of the house faster than we could finish counting all the silverware. Suddenly, my vision blurred, and tons of comments popped up. "Calm down, darling! Remember, the first lesson of being a gold digger is that defense is the best offense. Yves is not the exception to that rule." I was brought back to my mother's first lesson. She had been putting on lipstick as she drawled languidly, "You cheapen yourself in a man's eyes if you fight for him, darling. The more you relent, the more he thinks he owes you. Once guilt takes his mind, he'll give you your rightful throne."

In a world ravaged by global nuclear fallout, I struggled to survive alongside my fragile, sweet-faced best friend, dodging one radiation storm after another. The route to the Central Safety Zone was blocked—we had no choice but to use two detonators to blast open the tunnel. Otherwise, we would be caught in the storm, our bodies rotting away until we either dissolved into blood sludge or turned into zombies. … In my previous life, I had risked everything to secure those detonators, only for my best friend to hand them over to a complete stranger without hesitation. "They have elderly people and children on their side too," she said earnestly. "One detonator can save many lives. Iris, you can't be selfish." I was so furious my blood pressure nearly exploded, but with no other option, I went straight into a horde of zombies to steal backup detonators. I lost an arm in the process, drenched in blood and barely standing. Yet, she complained that I was covered in gore and had frightened the children. After finally regrouping with the main convoy, I rushed to deliver the formula for anti-radiation medicine to the research institute so that more people could be saved. But she accused me of stealing supplies and trying to flee, which led to my expulsion from the base, and death, my body rotting away under the radiation. When I opened my eyes again, there was still one hour left before the radiation storm hit. I looked down at the two detonators in my hand, then at my pitiful, tear-brimmed best friend—and I smiled. Since she loved being a good person so much, this time, I would let her be one to her heart's content.

I was working as a stunt double for a fight scene when a rising idol actor stabbed me with a real knife and sent me straight to the hospital. My actress girlfriend rushed over in a panic, fussing over me with endless concern. Before I could even feel touched, a floating comment suddenly appeared above her head. [When is Scott finally going to realize that the Best Actress linked him and Francis through a Beauty System?] [The more Scott cares about a certain part of his body, the more perfect that same part becomes on Francis!] The next second, my manager of five years hurried into the room as well. Another barrage of comments floated up. [The manager's no better. She tied them to an Achievement System. The harder Scott works, the more achievements Francis gets!] I stared at the two women in front of me and fell silent. So… my only option was to give up and do nothing?

Mom raises me and my brother, Cameron Joyner, by herself after she gets a divorce. Cameron was born with congenital asthma and has to take medication every day. Although I'm healthier, Mom treats me better than Cameron. She always says, "You're the apple of my eye, Cassie. I don't want you to feel troubled because of Cam." From the very beginning of my life, I've always been number one in Mom's heart. However, the year I turn 15, Cameron suddenly disappears. Mom completely changes after he goes missing.

Eight years after running away pregnant, I found myself crossing paths with my ex-husband, Howard Quinn. His friends stared at me in surprise. "So, this is what you have become after leaving Howard? Reduced to a cleaner?" When I was six-months pregnant, I met with an accident. While I lay there, he was staying by the side of another woman, his so-called true love, in labor, never leaving her side. When I confronted him, in pieces, he looked at me bored and impatiently. "Don't be so jealous and petty. I have no time for you. As long as you behave, you'll always be Mrs. Quinn." I couldn't stand it any longer, so I ran away, staying away for eight long years. Now, those sharp eyes glared at me. "Have you had enough? If so, come home." What he didn't know was that my husband and daughter had already made dinner, waiting for me and my son to return home.

As the future daughter-in-law, I am making my first formal visit to my fiancé Patrick Underwood's family on Thanksgiving. At the dinner table, I raise my glass to make a toast when Patrick's childhood sweetheart, Lana Rowe, suddenly stands up and says to my future father-in-law, Alfred Underwood, "Dad, thank you for letting Patrick give me a son." I freeze on the spot. Mr. Underwood looks at Lana with emotion and says, "You've always known how to repay kindness, and you and Patrick grew up together. He should consider himself lucky to have you bear his child." Everyone at the table nods in agreement. Not a single person thinks there is anything wrong with this. Only then does Patrick finally notice me standing off to the side. He explains, "Don't get the wrong idea. Lana has no intention of ever getting married. She'd be lonely in her old age if she didn't have a child, so I was just helping her out. "Agnes, you already have me, so whether we have kids or not doesn't change anything." Dad shoots me a stern look. "If you dare cause a scene at Thanksgiving dinner, you can get out!" Lana suddenly laughs. "Come on, don't be so serious, everyone. Agnes has always been so understanding—surely she won't make a fuss over something so trivial." She then turns to me. "If Patrick and I really had something going on, you wouldn't have had a chance to marry him in the first place. Besides, you can be our son Douglas Underwood's godmother. The three of us can raise him together." I don't take the glass of wine Lana offers me. Instead, I glance at Patrick again. He gestures for me not to make a scene. A lump forms in my throat. In that instant, I find the whole situation utterly ridiculous. I immediately message my professor, Gary Massey, who has been hoping I would become his daughter-in-law. "Professor Massey, does your son, Bradley Massey, know about my situation?" Professor Massey replies instantly, "Yes. As long as you're willing, this marriage is as good as settled." "Okay, I'll marry Bradley."

On Labor Day, my husband worked himself to death in another woman's bed. Halfway through the funeral, my mother-in-law said to me, "Malcolm's gone, but this family still doesn't have an heir. Clara, you're still young. Have a child with Vincent. The sooner the better." I stared at my brother-in-law in his wheelchair, my mind going blank. "But he's Malcolm's brother." "Better to keep it in the family," Nora Stroud said with a smile. "This is my decision. Even if Malcolm were still alive, he'd listen to me." Something in me snapped, and a quiet laugh slipped out. They wanted an heir, didn't they? Fine. Then my father-in-law could have one.

Three years after I landed on the wanted list, all 88 pieces of my dismembered corpse were thrown in front of the police station. After the forensics team put my body together, they identified my body as Julian Colt, the fiancé of the Organized Crime Department, Captain Kyra Schneider. Everyone, from elders in their eighties to young children, wanted me to see justice because not only had I betrayed Kyra and her team, but I had also publicly joined the criminal organization and become the lover of its leader. I was fired from the police force and hated by my loved ones. Kyra hated me the most, and she used the most cruel method of retrieving my memories to be broadcast to the world. On judgment day, the city square was filled with spectators, but when my memories were retrieved, along with the huge word 'innocent' splashed on it, everyone went crazy. "Traitor! A man like him should have been executed." "The evidence clearly points to his guilt. How is he innocent? Everyone knows how he helped the criminal organization to kill numerous police officers!" "Don't be tricked by him! He must have altered those memories!"

After accidentally discovering that my boss owes loan sharks 50 million dollars, I start scrambling for a way out of my contract with the company. Just as I'm wondering what to do, a string of comments suddenly appears before my eyes. "Poor Lindsay. That idiot boss of hers plans to use the company's livestream to launder money and pay off his debt." "The moment she goes live, the entire sum becomes her personal liability!" I'm the company's cash cow, trapped in an ironclad contract, yet I don't have a shred of evidence to take to the police. Just then, Tasha Moore, one of the company's rookie streamers, walks over with a sweet smile and hands me a glass of water. "Lindsay, I heard you're going live tonight. I made you a special beauty tonic. It'll soothe your throat and give your skin a nice glow." More comments appear. "Beauty tonic, my ass. That drink is loaded with hormones that will ruin Lindsay's face. Tasha would do anything to replace her as the company's top streamer." My eyes immediately light up. Without the slightest hesitation, I drain the entire glass. Half an hour later, an ambulance whisks me away. Talk about perfect timing. Now, she can take my place and be the one left holding the bag for that 50 million-dollar debt.

After dating Layla Marsh for four years, Clark Marsh, her son, suddenly appeared at my birthday party while pretending to be a waiter. Then, he fainted. Layla was shocked and ordered some staff to bring him to the lounge. But with teary eyes and a stubborn look, he pleaded to Layla, “Mom, please let me stay here, or I won’t get my salary. Then, I won’t get any money to buy medicine…” Layla stared at him in surprise, and she demanded, “I give you an allowance of thirty thousand dollars a month. How could you not buy your medicine and still need to work?” But Clark opened his mouth in confusion, and all his blood drained from his face. “Thirty thousand dollars? But I only got three hundred dollars…” Layla’s eyes went wide with shock before she whipped her head toward me. Her expression sank. I had been enjoying the drama when I heard this, and my mouth twitched. ‘This is bad. He’s here for me,’ I thought. Who did Clark think I was? I was a top-tier freeloader who kept clear accounts, with every expense and every sum of money I received clearly listed. Clark was stepping on a dragon’s tail.

My name is Gabriel Wilson, and my sister is Isabelle Wilson. Growing up, Dad runs our house by making an example out of me. In elementary school, whenever Isabelle misses a single math problem on her homework, Dad forces me to write it out a hundred times. I scribble until my fingers cramp into a knot and I can barely grip the pen, which terrifies Isabelle so much that she stops making careless mistakes altogether. During middle school, Isabelle uses her allowance to buy a ten-dollar bag of snacks for a boy she likes, and the moment Dad finds out, he slashes my monthly allowance from 1,200 dollars down to a measly 200 dollars. For the next month, I survive entirely on cheap, stale bread until I'm rushed to the ER for throwing up bile. Even so, Dad only relents when Isabelle breaks down in tears and promises never to waste another dime. When college rolls around, Isabelle insists on applying to the police academy. Dad tries to talk her out of it, but when he realizes she won't budge, he tells her, "You want to be a cop? Fine. Let me show you what real cops actually have to deal with." He wipes my social security number from the system, stages my disappearance to look like a kidnapping, and dumps me right in the middle of a serial killer's hunting ground. I spend days confined in an abandoned cabin, calling for help until my voice goes hoarse. Blood begins to pool beneath my feet as the serial killer slices my skin with a rusted blade. Back home, Isabelle frantically begs Dad for my tracker. "Dad, please!" she screams. "Just tell me where Gabriel is! I won't join the police force, okay? I'll drop the whole thing!" Even though I'm just on the other side of the wall from them, I can no longer make a sound. My soul drifts in midair as I watch Isabelle collapse onto the floor in despair, sobbing. Dad, I'm done letting you make an example out of me.

I come across a popular post on the forums. "Help! Someone has stolen my two million dollars of gold from my safe! The thief didn't even leave behind any marks of wrenching the safe door open!" In the photo, a hand with a wedding ring can be seen pointing at an empty safe. The safe's model and patterns match the safe that I've seen in my best friend, Joan Hart's, house before. The comment section is already filled with comments. "Girlie, I'm sorry, but I have to say this. Your husband's most likely the culprit." "Agreed. There's no way ordinary thieves can swipe your gold away without leaving anything behind." "You should check your husband's recent financial situation first." The original poster responds to the comments that doubt her husband firmly, "There's no way it's my husband! We're in a tightly-knit relationship!" Someone is quick to ask, "What about your friends and relatives? Who else has visited your house before?" This time, the original poster's response appears even faster. "Last week, my best friend spent a night at my house…" Just as I'm about to share the thread with Joan and tell her that her safe might be compromised because of these safety issues, I receive a phone call from her. "Andrea, I got bad news for you! Someone stole my safe at home!"