Contos e Romances com Hypocrisy e Face Slapping

Before the birthday party starts, my boyfriend, Edward Parker, casts his phone onto the large screen in the private room. He starts an anonymous poll in the group chat we share with our friends. The question is, "Tonight, should I stay and cut the cake with my girlfriend, or go to the premiere with my childhood friend?" A 30-second countdown begins as the votes keep climbing. His childhood friend, Renee Lane, gets 17 votes while I get just one. Everyone thinks I'm the one who has voted for myself. Edward leans back against the couch and smiles. "The minority yields to the majority." Renee hands him the movie ticket. "Guess everyone agrees that I need you more." Meanwhile, I'm standing before a cake with the candles still unlit, wearing my favorite dress. Someone in the room whistles. "Tanya, don't be a sore loser." The voting thing has been going on for three years now. Whenever we fight, Edward will let them vote on who apologizes first. On dates, he will let them vote on whose hand he holds. Even when I ask him whether he loves me, he sends the question to the group chat, saying, "Let's have everyone weigh in." I think that if I win just once, he will finally take my side. But I never win. Tonight is no different. Edward gets to his feet and grabs his coat. As he walks past me, he ruffles my hair. "Be good, okay? I'll make it up to you when I get back." I look at the results on the screen, lock my phone, and push the cake knife toward him. "No need. Edward, I'm done voting."

The year I turned fourteen, Grandma and I were crammed into a beat-up trailer on the edge of a desert town. She couldn't afford paint, so she mixed colors from the cheapest red clay pigment at the general store. When a frame broke, she hammered it back together herself. When canvas tore, she patched the back with old cloth and sealed it with a paste she boiled from leftover church wax and cheap resin. Grandma never went to school. She painted out of pure love, and she kept at it for thirty years. Then one summer, a gallery owner named Evelyn Hart crawled into Grandma's leaky shed and examined every painting, flipping each one over to study both sides. The next day, every last painting was gone. Finished oils, sketches, pigment records, old photographs, frames. Everything cleared out overnight. Three months later, Grandma walked into Evelyn's gallery and saw her own painting, Madonna of the Red Rock, hanging in the brightest spot. But the brass nameplate beside it bore Evelyn's name. She lunged for the painting. The security guards pried her fingers loose and dragged her out the door. That night, a blizzard sealed off the roads. She pounded on the glass, but no one came. The next morning, when I found her outside the gallery, her body was already frozen solid. After the funeral, I went to clean out what was left of the burned shed. Inside the lining of an old brush pouch, I found a small scrap of painted canvas. It was a piece Grandma had trimmed off while repairing Madonna of the Red Rock. The thief had missed it. I tucked it away and kept it. For twenty years. Twenty years later, I was the compliance director at an international art marketplace. A young woman submitted an auction application for a series of paintings. The Desert Madonna Series was about to be sold to collectors and private museums around the world. The collection was valued at more than $150 million. I opened the file. In the artist field, I stared at the name for a long time. "Application denied."

My fiancée canceled the five-million-dollar investment I'd made in my best friend's company and replaced it with a five-hundred-dollar transfer. She told me that real friendship shouldn't be measured in money. Three days later, she invested a hundred million dollars in her childhood sweetheart's company at the most expensive hotel in Manhattan, in front of Wall Street investors and the media. Everyone started cheering, telling her she might as well just marry the guy. She didn't stop them. Why would she? She believed that no matter what she did, I'd never leave. What she didn't know was that I owned the core system that generated most of Nexora's profits. I'd spent eight years building Nexora, the company she was so proud of, from the ground up. She also didn't know my last name was Hale. I was the sole heir to Hale Global Group, a conglomerate powerful enough to bankrupt Nexora with a single word.

I have an ability that I can't tell anyone about—whenever I'm intimate with my girlfriend, I can see what she was doing exactly one hour earlier. In the past, what I see is her secretly buying sexy lingerie to surprise me; or her carefully following a recipe to cook my favorite dishes; or her nervously standing in front of a mirror, checking her makeup and dress over and over as she nervously prepares to propose to me. For seven years, everything she does in that one hour is always about me. Until three days before our wedding. The moment she kisses me, a vision suddenly flashes before my eyes. In a dimly lit lounge, she has my best friend, Tyler Reed, pinned against the door. He turns his head away, his voice strained as he speaks. "We can't keep doing this! Logan is my best friend. I can't betray him…" But Avery Goodwin unbuckles his belt, her voice hoarse with desire. "I'm marrying him in three days. Let's just have fun one last time." The scene vanishes in a flash. Back in reality, Avery is still nestled in my arms, gently kissing my cheek. "Logan, we're going to be married soon. Are you happy?" I stare into her loving eyes, and suddenly let out a soft laugh. So, it turns out there is a third person in her one hour after all.

I've just recently found out that I was switched at birth. Anthony Jefferson, the person who was raised in my place, and I end up joining an academic game show together—but he encourages everyone to ostracize me. "Sorry, Noah, but everyone on our team has a postgraduate degree. I don't think you'll fit in with us," Anthony says. Immediately, all the other contestants refuse to form a team with me. In fact, scathing remarks about me flood the internet, making me go viral. "Why did a brainless pretty boy like Noah Jefferson join an academic game show? He's obviously going to drag his teammates down!" "I heard he just returned to the family after spending his entire life in the countryside and didn't even graduate from high school." "You've got that right. Even though they're both sons of the Jefferson family, Anthony has already been hired by the National Institute of Physics! Meanwhile, Noah is nothing more than a total slacker." The comments going around online make me pause. Are they referring to me, the guy who was guaranteed a spot in the top universities in the country at just 14 years old? And what's this about Anthony getting hired by the National Institute of Physics? How is it that I, the director of the institute, am only now learning of that?

I have just disembarked from the plane when I receive a call from my sister, Sienna Miller's, manager. "Bad news! Sienna's role was stolen from her." I immediately rush to the set only to see Sienna surrounded by a group of people. Her cheeks are red and swollen from being slapped repeatedly. A mixture of fury and panic rages within me. I'm just about to step forward when a young woman, who looks no older than 16 years old and is wearing a dress that is covered in ruffles and frills, slaps me across my face. I'm stunned by the slap. A murderous glint flickers in my eyes. "Do you have any idea who I am?" I hiss. The young woman scoffs and sneers. "Who do you think you are? How dare you try to intimidate me? You'll be offending the only daughter of Deslano's Miller family, Quinn Miller. You'll also be facing a fate worse than death if you dare to fight me for this role." The director's arrogance from before has disappeared. He rubs his hands together as he tries to smooth the situation over. "She invested a significant amount of funds when she joined the crew. You're no match for her. If you know what's good for you, you'll accept whatever role that is assigned to you." The only daughter of the Miller family? What does that make me and Sienna then? I immediately call Dad and coldly demand answers from him. "It hasn't even been a week since Mom passed away. Are you in that much of a rush to bring your mistress and other children into the family?"

Nikita Ragland is a young actress who has only recently made her debut. After starring in a few romance short series, she starts to believe she's a real-life princess. After another argument with her boyfriend, Dwayne Ferguson, Nikita doesn't hesitate to abandon a production crew of more than 500 people and catch a flight in the middle of the night just to appease her beloved boyfriend. When filming starts the next day, Nikita is nowhere to be found, and her hotel room is empty. Dozens of messages are sent to her, but none receive a response. It isn't until that evening that she finally calls on video, completely unbothered. "Mr. Casson, I went to pacify my boyfriend. Let's put filming on hold for now." The director, Walter Casson, is livid. "Are you kidding me? The locations are already booked, and the rest of the cast has their schedules set. How can we just stop production?" Nikita puts on an innocent expression, but her tone is unmistakably condescending. "Well, what do you want me to do? My boyfriend won't let me film kissing scenes with other men. I'll come back if you make Dwayne the male lead. He has never acted before, but we're a couple. He and I will be the perfect onscreen pairing." After saying this, Nikita pauses and glances at me as I stand beside Walter. "As for the current male lead, he can just be Dwayne's sidekick." Walter trembles with rage. "Absolutely not! Jeremiah hasn't done anything wrong. How can I replace him just like that?" Nikita flashes Walter a lazy smile. "If you won't agree, then I'm not acting. You can figure things out yourself."

My younger brother, Victor Bishop, has a silver tongue. That's why our parents, Paul Bishop and Jenna Cole, treat him like a treasure. I am socially awkward and blind to social cues, so they send me to the countryside to train. They even say there's no need to treat me well. They feed me scraps and make me sleep in the barn. After I turn 18, they put me in the family company to test me. Because of me, the Bishops become the richest family in Caldera. But Victor teams up with our parents and steals the credit that should've been mine. Everyone in the business world treats him like a star. Later, a building he cuts corners on collapses and kills dozens of workers. He makes me take the fall, and I spend ten years in prison. After I get out, he's afraid I'll fight him for the family fortune. Because of this, he hires someone to kill me. When I open my eyes again, I'm back in my senior year of high school. This time, I'm living for myself!

Grandma is far too trusting of strangers. She can strike up a conversation with anyone and casually tell them all about our family. She always says, "There aren't that many bad people in the world." During summer break, she takes my younger brother, Theo, and me swimming. After she entrusts Theo to a lifeguard to take him to the men’s restroom, my five-year-old brother is abducted and sold. However, Grandma tells my parents that I deliberately made him disappear because I want to take his place and stay in the city. My parents get a divorce because of it. They had already left me behind in the countryside, and now neither of them is willing to take me with them. As I chase after my mother's car, I get hit by a car and die. When I open my eyes, I am back on the day when I was ten years old. The swimming pool is filled with cheers and laughter. Theo calls loudly to Grandma. "Grandma! I need to pee!" Grandma smiles, scoops him up, and starts walking toward Samson, who is standing nearby. My heart tightens. I quickly get to my feet and follow her. Then I grab Theo by the hand. “No, you can’t go into the men’s restroom.”

After the SAT results come out, the girl everyone knows as the school's scholarship case throws a lavish graduation party. That same night, I get a text alert saying my credit card has been maxed out. I go to confront her, but she's already in my boyfriend's arms, sobbing like she's the victim. "Just because I'm on financial aid, I'm not allowed to throw a party?" My boyfriend rushes to comfort her and turns on me instead. "Your family's loaded anyway. Spending a little on Lacey isn't going to kill you." Sure, my family has money, but I'm not a saint, and I don't see why I should be footing her bills. I refuse to back down. I call the police to make her pay me back, but my boyfriend retaliates by going after my family's company, pushing it to the brink of bankruptcy. On my way to meet potential investors, my boyfriend and Lacey Kemp conspire to run me off the road and kill me. When I open my eyes again, I'm back on the day of her party.

On the third day after receiving our college acceptance letters, the most popular student in school, Natalie Simmons, proposes something in our class group chat. "We're all adults now, and we've already been accepted into college. We should do something exciting before the semester begins. Let's put on a show and stage a fake bank heist. It'll be fun." In my last life, I make 23 phone calls in a row and confiscate every prop they plan to use. No one gets hurt. But Natalie becomes the target of criticism from parents and teachers. She sinks into depression and eventually jumps into a lake. The entire class blames me and hates me. At our graduation dinner, they force a whole bottle of liquor down my throat. Then, they say they're taking me to the riverside to sober up. When I wake up, I'm in the river. Water fills my lungs, freezing cold. The news report summed up my life in five words. "Drunk Man Falls Into River." When I open my eyes again, my phone is vibrating. The very first message in the group chat is Natalie's proposal. This time, I don't say anything. I take screenshots and save copies.

I return home from studying abroad and find a new future sister-in-law waiting for me. Sandra Zimmer acts like she's already the lady of the house and the Slater family's daughter-in-law. She even vows to put me, her sister-in-law-to-be, whom she's never met, in my place. But no one tells her that my older brother, Wallace Slater, is adopted. I'm the Slater family's only heir, and even Wallace has to answer to me.

How terrifying is a man who's a simp and knows that he's one? In three years of dating, I've transferred six million dollars to my girlfriend, Nadine Stark. I made sure every transaction was labeled as a willing gift. I know she only sees me as her personal ATM, but I still go along with it. We break up over something ridiculous. I'm a little late in transferring money to her once, and she screams at me to get lost over and over again. So I do. That's when Nadine loses it. She starts stalking and harassing me, and she spreads rumors about me. She claims I have an STD, that I've stolen her gold necklace worth 150 thousand dollars, and that I've abused her cat to death. In the end, I lose all hope in her and switch to being a simp for someone else instead. But she's still not okay with that. Nadine actually drops to her knees before me to apologize and slaps herself across the face. She breaks down in tears and begs me to take her back. She wants me to love her again.

When my biological parents bring me home, Edward Sullivan, the son they had raised in my place, strongly opposes holding a welcome-home party for me. Left with no choice, my parents have me draw lots in the form of blind boxes just to be fair. However, I draw negative responses all three times, so they postpone the ceremony by a week. Five days later, my girlfriend, Zoe Ludwig, drops by to discuss our engagement. Edward fell in love with her at first sight and immediately demanded that she marry him instead. Marriage is no trivial matter. My parents surely won't indulge him. To my surprise, they once again have me draw a blind box to keep things fair. I nervously selected a box. Once again, it contained a “No.” Believing that I had simply been unlucky, I felt frustrated and dejected. That is what I thought until I overhear someone speaking in Franich in the restroom. "Dad, thank goodness you and Mom thought of using blind boxes. If you hadn't fixed the blind boxes, I wouldn't have been able to be with Zoe!" That is when I realize that the blind boxes aren't intended to ensure fairness but are instead used as a cover for favoritism. Having lived in Franica for some time, they assume I don't understand Franich. However, my adoptive father, Howard Jordan, has long since obtained a permanent residence permit in Franica. Instead of exposing them, I quietly call Howard. Since I'm not welcome here, I'm not wasting my time on them any longer!

It is 1:00 am, and I'm still in the inspection office in the suburban power plant, compiling the equipment defect records for the week. Suddenly, there's loud kicking at my door. Brad Greer's panicked voice rings out. "Sam! Come with me right now! The pressure-regulating valve on the main steam pipe of Unit 4 is completely stuck! "The automatic pressure relief device didn't get activated! If it explodes, the three maintenance workers in the control room next door will be burned to a crisp!" Just as I grab my hard hat and am about to rush out, an anonymous encrypted email pops up on my office computer. It said, "Don't go there. The three maintenance workers have already been burned to death by the gushing steam. "He is the one who violated regulations by performing the pressurized maintenance after replacing the valve core with a substandard one, and now, it's completely stuck. He's just trying to make you take the blame. "If you touch the valve even once, you'll get your fingerprints all over it. The CCTV footage will show only you fiddling with it. You're going to take the fall for him and spend the rest of your life in jail. "You're going to have to pay tens of millions of dollars in compensation, and the victims' families will even have the right to sell off all your assets for compensation. You'll never have a peaceful life in prison either." The kicking at the door continues, and the hinges on the wooden door are about to fall off. "Samuel Williams! What are you dawdling for? You're the only one in the whole plant now who's received valve debugging training! You're the only one who can do it! "If you come out any later, those three maintenance people are going to be cooked!" I grip the computer mouse and withdraw my hand from the doorknob. I then say, "I'm sorry, but I'm only an inspector, not a maintenance technician. You need to call the plant's emergency number right away."

My husband, Nathan Sidney, is the top doctor in the municipal hospital. However, he refuses to treat my stepsister, Jessica Jepson. He tells me that it's because Jessica's mother, Janice Ferguson, is Dad's mistress, which makes Jessica a mistress' daughter. They don't deserve to be treated by him because they're the ones responsible for tearing my family apart. During a family get-together, we play the "Have You or Haven't You" game. When it's my turn, I confidently say, "I've been treated by Nathan. You haven't." Jessica smiles and pulls out a medical report from her pocket. "Sorry, Cassie. You've lost." Nathan's signature is penned on the report. As I clutch the medical report, I ask hoarsely, "When did this happen?" "Last Wednesday," Nathan replies. "She cut her hand. I can't just ignore her when she's bleeding right in front of me." He smiles and ruffles my hair, saying, "I'm a doctor. I can't ignore a patient. You're so kind, Cassandra. You understand why I had to treat her, right?" In the past, when Jessica secretly tried on my wedding dress, Nathan said that she just liked feeling pretty. When she pawned off the gold bracelet Mom left me, he said she was just greedy, while wiring me money as compensation. I was hospitalized for two weeks after accidentally drinking white wine instead of water because the doctors were trying to protect the pregnancy. When I tell Nathan that Jessica's the one who mixed up the drinks, he says, "She's just a little stupid. You're so kind, Cassandra. You understand that she just made an honest mistake, right?" Today, Nathan has not only broken his promise, but he's also trying to emotionally blackmail me. I simply smile and softly say, "I don't want to understand. I'm done being understanding, Nathan Sidney."

I've been a liar for as long as anyone can remember. When I was seven, I told Mom that Jared smashed our piggy bank. She searched me instead and found the missing coins in my pocket. When I was 12, I insisted I didn't steal my classmate's notebook. Then it was found inside my backpack. When I was 18, I accused my stepfather of assaulting me. He produced photos proving he was out of state that night. By then, everyone knows exactly what I am. A compulsive liar. A daughter who will say anything. At 22, I sit in front of a camera with my psychiatric evaluation in my hands and start a livestream. "For the next three days, I'm going to show you what it's like to spend 22 years being called a liar."

My car broke down on the road, so I took off my jacket, popped the hood, and started checking the problem right there at the curb. A brand new convertible swung in and stopped in front of me, close enough to make a point. My ex-wife Sarah got out on the arm of a man in a tailored suit, one hand clamped over her nose in disgust. "Leo, all these years since the divorce and you're still a bottom-rung mechanic who reeks of motor oil." I wiped the grease off my hands. I could not be bothered to explain that this limited-edition supercar was one I had picked up brand new. When I stayed quiet, Sarah shoved a screenshot of her trading profits in my face. "See that? David got me into a tech stock. One day of gains beats everything you'll make fixing cars in a lifetime!" David Ashford looked down at me, his voice thick with contempt. "Sarah, what's the point of talking investing with a mechanic? He can't even read a price chart. "A mystery fund is buying this stock in batches. I'm already in at four-to-one leverage. I'm about to be set for life." Sarah laughed and threw a few bills onto my open hood. "Here's a tip. Buy yourself a decent coffee and stop cluttering up the view." I looked at the scattered bills, then at the ticker symbol on the screenshot. I knew that one well, and I smiled. That tech company's rally was nothing but a bull trap staged by a fund looking for cover while it unloaded its shares. Anyone still in it would be wiped out. I took out my phone and calmly sent a message to my trader. "We're up thirty percent. Sell it all."

I come home for the holidays to find four pairs of slippers beside the shoe cabinet. There's a pair for my dad, Dean Pratt, a pair for my mom, Nancy Kerr, and two pairs for my sister, Luna Pratt, including a spare. Mine isn't there. Although my sister attended school in another state, kept her room exactly as it was. Even her slippers sit by her bedside, waiting for her return. I had been away from home for three years. When I returned, I discovered that my belongings had disappeared one by one. And now, they hadn’t even kept a pair of slippers for me. I stand in the entryway, my feet bare. "Where’s my pair?" Mom pokes her head out. "You hardly ever come back, so I threw them away. They were taking up space." But the soles of my sister’s spare pair had already been worn smooth, and they were still neatly sitting in their original place. The next day, I buy a new pair for myself at the supermarket and put them beside the shoe cabinet. That night, I check the shoe cabinet and find them gone. Dad is watching TV on the couch. "Luna's classmate came over, so I gave them to her." "I just bought them." Dad doesn't even turn around. "It's just a pair of slippers. Get another one." Luna pauses. "Huh? I thought Mom had bought them for guests." It makes sense. Guest slippers were supposed to be thrown away once the guest had left.

My roommate buys an off-the-shoulder top. I happen to own one too. Apparently, that's all it takes for her to start telling everyone I'm obsessed with copying her. According to her, I'm like a rat, constantly watching her and stealing her style. Seriously? I open my closet and reveal rows upon rows of clothes, packed from end to end—all from the latest collections. Then I turn to her with a smile. "So, tell me. How exactly am I copying you?"