Nouvelles Hypocrisy Face Slapping & Romans

After siring 18 princes, the current king, Henry Barton, finally sires me, his first princess. On the day of my birth, Father vacates the entirety of West Tower to be my personal place of residence. Not only that, but he also changes the rules, decreeing that no one is allowed to be alone with me. As a result, I remain mute even after I turn six. Father's new consort, Elizabeth Muller, is showered with love and attention even though she only moved into the castle three months ago. The first time we meet, she takes my hand and says, "You're so well-behaved, Princess Julia. Let me take you to look at the fish." After making sure that we're alone in the garden, she grips my wrist. Her smile slowly fades away as she sneers, "You're just a useless princess. Why does everyone in the castle have to bend to your every whim? Once I give birth to a legitimate heir, you and your brothers will have to grovel at my son's feet." My eyes turn bloodshot when Elizabeth digs her nails painfully into my flesh. "No crying. If you're mute, just keep your mouth shut. No one will believe you no matter how many tears you shed." What Elizabeth doesn't know is that I'm not actually mute. On the contrary, I'm actually too good at speaking. I've had an extraordinary talent for mimicking others since I was a child and can easily repeat anything I hear. That's why everyone in the castle is forbidden from speaking when I'm around. It's also why I have been silent for the past six years. The banquet celebrating the harvest festival is hosted one month later. It's extremely rare for all 18 of my brothers to be present at the same time. They take turns teasing me, hoping to get me to speak. As I curl up in Father's embrace, I suddenly blurt out, "Once I give birth to a legitimate heir, you and your brothers will have to grovel at my son's feet."

As the Donna of the Moretti Family, I paid out of my own pocket to build a high-security school for the children of our fallen members. But the widows repaid me by dragging my name through the media. Worse, they leaked the locations of three safe houses, dealing the Family a devastating blow. They claimed the school was never a benefit at all, but a “hostage camp” where I kept their children to force them to remain loyal to the Family. While Don Lorenzo Moretti was away, they even filed an impeachment motion with the Family Council, demanding that I shut down the school and hand its operating funds directly to them. Fine. I signed the closure order that very day. But the moment the notice went out, the widows swarmed the estate gates, crying and begging me to reopen the school. Only then did they understand— What waited for their children beyond the school gates was never freedom. It was a rival Family’s hit list.

Hearing that my son was dating an A-list pop star, I intentionally put on a pair of comfortable, casual clothes to visit him on set. The moment her livestream began, Janice Swanson's eyes landed on my old-fashioned outfit and the battered thermos in my hand. Pure contempt flashed across her face. The live chat erupted into a frenzy. [Where did this redneck lady come from? Did she wander onto the wrong set?] [She looks so cheap. Are those clothes from a bargain bin?] [Is this one of those relatives who shows up looking for a handout?] Janice covered her mouth and gave a light, knowing laugh, putting on an air of generosity. "Come on, guys. She's just one of Brandon's distant relatives. Her family's having a hard time right now, so it's understandable that she can't afford designer clothes." Then, she lowered her voice and warned me out of range of the mic. "Listen up, old lady. Don't embarrass me. Play along with me later, or I'll make sure you regret it." I stood there, stunned. My outfit might look simple, but it was actually a bespoke handmade piece from a top Italian atelier. It was priceless and unobtainable to the public. Oblivious, Janice shook her head and sighed dramatically for the camera. "I honestly feel bad for her. I heard she was Mr. Castillo's mistress when she was younger. Now that she's getting older and he's cast her aside, she has come crawling to us for money." The story was so absurd that I almost laughed. "Whose mistress? Richard Castillo was begging me last night not to cut off his allowance."

I spent a few minutes in the bathroom during work hours, and my 20,000‑dollar salary was cut down to 3,500 dollars. I went to my boss to demand an explanation. He acted fair‑minded, and every word carried sarcasm. "According to last month's security footage, you spent a total of 40 minutes in the bathroom. Don't tell me you were working there. "Five hundred dollars for every minute you spent in the bathroom. "It’s a new company policy. As a senior employee, you should set an example. Honestly, I went easy on you." I had been one of the company's key employees for ten years, and the deals I brought in had generated over 100 million dollars in revenue. Now, even my most basic rights were taken away. When I did not react, he smiled coldly. "If you don't like it, quit. You really think this company can't function without you? "And don't forget that you still have five years left on your contract. Who's going to hire you?" I did not argue with him. However, when my contract expired five days later, he was the one who panicked.

On our seventh anniversary, Don Leonardo Luciano gave me an eight-carat pigeon's-blood ruby ring. He told me it was a family heirloom, passed from one Donna to the next. "Camilla, I can't give you a wedding yet, but in my heart, you're already my wife." My eyes filled with tears as I slipped it onto my finger. Then I asked my best friend, Nora Bennett, to examine it after her shift at the auction house. She held it under a lamp and slowly turned the stone. A ring of crimson light appeared inside it. "This isn't a natural ruby." "How is that possible? Leonardo gave it to me. It's a family heirloom." Nora frowned. "Really? I heard every piece of Luciano family jewelry bears a gold lion crest. Does yours have one?" I took off the ring and checked. Nothing. Just then, a new story from Victoria Moretti popped up on my feed. She was the daughter of another powerful mafia family. The photo showed her aboard Leonardo's private yacht. And on her finger was a ring identical to mine. A man stood beside her, his face hidden from view. But I recognized the watch on his wrist. I'd given it to Leonardo. Then I saw the caption. "After all this time, you finally put the family ring on my finger."

I grew up alongside Arthur Stevenson, who eventually became the Lord Chancellor. However, on the day of the royal physician selection, he disqualified me on the grounds that I had spilled a small amount of medicinal residue. Instead, he chose my younger stepsister. When I asked him why, he looked completely unconcerned. "Your sister wants the position, so what's the harm in a loving older sister stepping aside? A proper lady shouldn't be so jealous and willful. Consider today a small lesson for you." What he didn't realize was that if I couldn't enter the castle as a resident physician, I would be forced to enter as a royal mistress to the tyrannical King. Later on, word reached me that the cold, unfeeling Lord Chancellor stood outside the castle gates, drenched in the pouring rain for an entire day and night, asking for nothing more than a chance to see me.

"On results day, I'll have a way to turn back time and take us all back to the exam room!" Lily Parker, the prettiest girl in our class, stood at the front of the room, threw up an arm, and shouted it at the top of her voice. "Sign up with me! Just $999. If it's a scam, I'll pay you back ten times over! "You'll even get a polished answer key for the college entrance exams. Guaranteed not to get flagged for cheating!" The classroom erupted. In the corner, I didn't even look up. I'd found the same method three days earlier. And I'd decided against it. For one simple reason: time inside that exam room was completely broken. Thirty seconds for English. Twelve hours for math. And between papers, three days and nights of hunger and thirst you couldn't survive twice.

I let my housekeeper’s son, Blake Livingston, stay at my house. Instead, he went to school and stole my identity, pretending to be me. One afternoon, our housekeeper, Fanny Livingston, brought food to school. When I reached for one of the containers, Blake said sarcastically, "Finn, this is the food my family’s housekeeper made for me. I may treat you like a brother, but that doesn’t mean you can just help yourself." Listening to our classmates whisper about me, I knew that in my previous life, I would have simply walked away. I wouldn’t even have bothered explaining myself. Unfortunately for him, I’d been reborn. Right in front of everyone, I dumped his lunch over his head. "You stay in my house for a few days, and suddenly you think you’re some rich kid? And your family has a housekeeper? Your mom barely makes enough working as one herself. You think she can afford to hire a housekeeper?"

Everyone says that the Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Landor, Prince Colin Livingston, loves me to the core. But on the day of court presentation, he bypasses me and presents the princess consort's diamond ring to my elder sister, Monique Payne, instead. However, I'm not the least bit upset. I even smile and congratulate Colin, saying, "I wish you and my sister a lifetime of happiness, Your Royal Highness." In my past life, I caught Colin rolling in the sheets with Monique when I was six months pregnant. I flew into a rage and accidentally killed her with a sword. Colin hated me for the rest of my life after that. When he finally ascended the throne, he posthumously crowned Monique as his Queen and even registered the many children I risked my life bearing for him under her name instead. I was heartbroken, requesting a royal decree to depose me as his wife. However, he tore up the royal edict and imprisoned me inside the palace instead. "You are my wife. And you will never escape me in this lifetime!" Ultimately, while I was still locked up in my room, our enemies ambushed and attacked the palace, setting fire to the place. And despite being struck down by numerous arrows, Colin still used every last ounce of his strength to protect me and save me from harm. Just before his death, he wiped away my tears with bloody hands and whispered into my ear, "Don't cry for me, Merry. I was the one who let you down in this lifetime. "But if there ever is a next life, I hope that you will let me be with Monique instead." I agreed in a trembling voice. But when I open my eyes again, I realize that I have gone back in time to the day the Crown Prince chooses the princess consort. So, I help him fulfill his wish this time.

My girlfriend's male best friend had only been abroad for two weeks, but when he came back, he claimed that he was transgender. He stopped wearing underwear and openly slept in my girlfriend's bed. He used my girlfriend's razor without asking and joked that they should both shave themselves completely smoothly. He even insisted on going into the women's restroom with my girlfriend whenever they went out together. When I could not take it anymore, I confronted him and demanded to know what he was playing at. He simply rolled his eyes and said, "Come on, man. I may have been born male, but I identify as a woman. Can a man obsessed with competing against other guys stop making our friendship sound dirty?" When I saw him walk into the women's restroom again, I let out a cold chuckle. I turned around and called my underworld-connected father. "Dad, send a few of your women over." Did he not say he was a woman? Fine! Let's see how far you're willing to take this game.

When I am diagnosed with congenital heart disease, I am forced to leave the dance company and give up the career I have spent my entire life working toward. My best friend, Vivian Carter, steps into my place, promising to fulfill my dream in my stead. My boyfriend, Ethan Bennett, proposes to me on the spot. He swears that no matter what happens to me—or what becomes of me—he will never leave my side. Over the next five years, I devote myself to helping Vivian rise through the ranks until she becomes the company's principal dancer. With my support, Ethan's career flourishes as well. And through it all, they never stop telling me they are searching for a way to cure me. This year, while both of them are busy preparing for an upcoming competition, I go to my follow-up appointment alone. But when I receive the results, I am stunned. There is nothing wrong with my heart. Overwhelmed with joy, I clutch the medical report to my chest and rush home, eager to share the news with them. Then, before I can step inside, I hear voices coming from within. Vivian speaks first. "Evelyn's follow-up appointment is coming up. Are you sure nothing will go wrong?" Ethan's voice is calm and unconcerned. "I already took care of it. Her test results will still show that she has heart disease." He pauses before adding, "Besides, she hasn't danced in five years. Even if she somehow finds out, what can she possibly do?" Vivian lets out a quiet laugh. "You're right." I freeze outside the door. The blood drains from my face as their words sink in. So this is the truth. My best friend and the man who promised to love me forever have been lying to me all along. Every promise. Every act of devotion. Every sacrifice I thought they had made for me. It has all been a lie.

The boss' daughter, Pamela Thompson, returns from overseas to take over the family business. The moment she sees me growing vegetables in an empty lot on the factory grounds, she covers her nose in disgust and sneers. "Our factory is a flagship company in this industrial hub!" she barks. "What kind of riffraff grows vegetables here? Do you think this is your personal farmer's market? Fire him, scrape that patch clean, and pave it over with concrete!" "And you!" she snaps, pointing to another worker. "Aren't you getting a little too old? You don't exactly fit our corporate image. You're fired too!" I take off my work uniform, load up my bicycle with my homegrown harvest, and pedal away. Behind me, the workers are all dumbfounded. One after another, they strip off their uniforms as well and fall in line behind me. "Where Drew goes, we go!" This time, it's the spoiled heiress who's left staring in utter disbelief.

The annual performance review came around. I was the company's top revenue generator. They gave me a D. I looked at the evaluation form in my hand and laughed, because the alternative was worse. "A D? No raise? You people call this a comprehensive assessment?" Even a dog that drags a forty-five-million-dollar deal home gets a couple of bones for it. Sonia Blake, our HR director, was busy touching up her lipstick. She didn't bother to look up. "Ethan, don't get arrogant. This company values character. It values teamwork. You lean too hard on individual heroics. The D was a unanimous decision by the board." "So that's the justification for wiping out my entire year-end bonus and cutting my pay twenty percent?" I didn't understand. That was when my direct supervisor, and the man I hated most in the building, Grant Palmer, walked in. "If you don't want the job, you can leave." He was flushed with satisfaction, waving around the letter of intent I had just closed. One and a half billion dollars. "Sonia, why are you still arguing with him? Ethan, here's the termination agreement. Sign it. And while you're at it, hand over the core code for the new platform." Use a man up, then throw him away. Fine. Wonderful. I picked up the pen and signed my name across the agreement with a flourish. "I hope you don't come begging me to come back."

The Sanders family has one rule: if a daughter attends her debutante ball without a partner, the family gets to decide whom she marries. And as the Sanders family's unwanted adopted daughter, I know no one will ask me. Desperate to escape an arranged marriage, I finally work up the courage to ask Jonathan Bale, the man I've secretly loved for years, to be my partner. He smiles, ruffles my hair, and says yes. But that night, Jonathan arrives at the ball with Raine Sanders, the family's real daughter, on his arm. I beg him not to do this to me, but he only seems annoyed. "Stop making such a big deal out of it. If you're that worried, I can just marry you tomorrow," he jokes. "Don't worry. You're not even a real Sanders anyway. Who else is going to want you?" Laughter erupts around us, and I slowly let go of his sleeve. And just like that, I stop fighting it. The next day, Jonathan actually shows up at our house with a marriage proposal in hand. He has come to ask for my hand. But Dad looks at him with a complicated expression. "She was sent to the Fairmont family before dawn," Dad says. "She's about to get married."

I had been an oracle since birth. Whatever I said would come true. When I first started to speak, I said that my father was going to be rich. That night, my father won a lottery that was worth a hundred million dollars. When I was six, I said the village chief’s grandson would return home safely. The next day, someone found him covered in dirt at the village entrance. When I was eighteen, I commented online that Harrison Corporation, which was almost going bankrupt, would bounce back. As expected, two weeks later, their share prices reached a new height. Hence, Brown Corporation invited me as a respectable guest due to my accurate predictions. However, I had just barely stepped through the doorway of the Brown family mansion when someone dragged me down by my long hair. “Witch, how dare you seduce my boyfriend! You even have the gall to come to our home and pursue him! Do you have a death wish?” Clearly, I had been misunderstood. I tried to explain myself, but the person would not listen. I quickly found myself on the receiving end of a barrage of blows. When my bangle broke, I tasted blood in my mouth. No one knew that aside from being an oracle, I would also bring bad luck. Whoever drew my blood would be unlucky. It looked like the Brown family would go downhill from here.

My stepsister, Abigail Lambert, is accepted into Quailmont High School through a special admissions program. Her teachers say she has what it takes to get into Bromwich College, one of the country's top colleges. My mother, Harper Quinn, and my stepfather, David Lambert, are so thrilled that they reserve a private dining room at the nicest hotel in town to celebrate her achievement. Before the celebration, they make a special trip to Quailmont and spend two days there. They even pick out presents for Abigail. When they come home, they're carrying the latest computer, their faces glowing with excitement. "Zachary, is dinner ready yet? If not, put some ribs in the oven. They're Abigail's favourite. Make extra so you can have some, too." I'm already on it. The ribs are roasting in the oven, filling the kitchen with their aroma. The television in the living room is airing a report on a string of missing-child cases. Nearly ten children between the ages of three and sixteen have gone missing. All of them are believed to have been kidnapped by human traffickers. The kidnappings are becoming increasingly common. The report immediately catches Mom's attention. "I don't think we should let Abby go out alone this summer. Zac, be sure to keep an eye on her, alright?" she prompts. "Her tutoring lesson should be over by now. Zac, go pick her up when you're done." The delicious smell of ribs fills the kitchen, overwhelming me until I can barely breathe. Abigail is missing. She's been missing for 30 hours, and she's nowhere to be found.

My wife and I had kept our marriage secret for three years. Then she became a fraud-busting influencer with ten million followers, and I was the first person she exposed. On her livestream, she sobbed that I was a freeloader who beat her, bled her dry, and even forced her to entertain men over drinks for money. The internet buried me in abuse. Delivery orders I never placed and funeral wreaths piled up outside my door. Her top donor announced he was going to break my legs to get justice for her. On camera, my wife was a fragile victim. Off camera, she was texting me threats. If I did not sign the thirty-million-dollar penthouse downtown over to her, she would burn my name to the ground. She thought that owning public opinion meant owning me. What she did not know was that her top donor, the man showering her with gifts every night, was one of my security guards. And when she brought New York's richest man onto her stream, intending to expose my supposed crimes, something else happened. The richest man in New York turned toward where I was standing and called me boss.

On the country's most popular live television show, if a death row inmate received forgiveness from the victim's family, they would not be executed. The camera focused on a young man behind a set of steel bars. "Vance Hester. Diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Committed six murders in six months. Currently awaiting execution." The host turned toward the audience. "Our producers contacted the families of every victim in the hope that they might be willing to give him a second chance." But all six families refused to forgive him. They demanded that he pay for his crimes with his life. As the tension mounted, Greyson Reynolds, the eldest son of the Reynolds family and a special guest on the show, spoke calmly, "Letting your emotions dictate your decisions is ridiculous. What good does killing him do? It won't bring anyone back. You might as well be the bigger person and show some mercy." He paused before adding, "Besides, there's always more to the story. Are we really supposed to believe the victims were completely innocent?" Beside him, Melanie Reynolds wore an expression of profound sympathy. "Everyone makes mistakes. How can we condemn someone to death over a single mistake?"

I've been able to smell people's emotions since I was a child. Affection smells sweet. Sorrow smells bitter. Disgust and anger smell spicy. I'd been with Bruce Dawson for ten years, and the scent that clung to him had never changed. It was always sweet, cloyingly so. The only thing that ever shifted was the day my older sister left the country. That night, when he came home late, his scent had turned bitter enough to make me frown. But I never connected the two. Not until three years later, when my sister came home to get married. That day, his scent was bitter laced with something spicy, a mix I'd never smelled on him before. It struck me as strange. Without thinking, I followed him when he stepped away from the reception, and outside in the stairwell I heard his voice, low and pained. "That's enough, Jasmine! You'd rather marry a stranger just to make me give up on you?" My sister's voice cracked as she cried back at him. "What else can I do? You're my brother-in-law. Rosalie is my sister. We can't keep doing this to her!" I froze in the doorway, my whole body shaking with shock, my heart wrung out like a fist closing around it until I couldn't breathe. That was when my phone lit up with a reminder: my wedding to Bruce was next week. I stood there blank for two seconds. Then I called the hotel and canceled the wedding.

On matriculation day, I carried my acceptance letter to the campus grounds to register alone. But before I could cross the threshold, the guards drove me back into the street with their anti-riot forks. Humiliated and bewildered, I reached for my phone to call my childhood friend, Daisy Reid. A sharp laughter rippled through the receiver. “Violet, are you truly that blind behind those glasses? The letter you swept off the desk was a forgery I mocked up. Your actual one is still sitting at home.” Panicked, I hastily booked a return ticket and hurried back to search for my letter. I scoured the house for hours, turning up nothing. Just then, Daisy’s personalized ringtone sang out from my palm. “Stop looking. “Bryan has it. He’s over at Millfield now.” Without a moment’s hesitation, I boarded the train to Millfield. But the second I stepped out onto the platform, a video call from Daisy flashed onto my display. “You gullible fool, did you genuinely travel all that way to hunt down Bryan? “It was just a joke. “Truth be told, the guards didn’t chase you off because of a counterfeit letter. I tipped them off that you were hauling concealed explosives…” She swung the phone around, showing Bryan Hawke, another childhood friend, who was dotingly fanning her with a brochure. Directly behind them stood my brother Harry, who was supposedly halfway across the globe on an extended getaway. “Hey Violet, what’s with the face? Learn to take a joke for once,” he teased with a chuckle. I could not move an inch. Turned out his elaborate cover story of an overseas holiday was nothing more than a ruse to escort Daisy to her new college. Gazing at the three laughing faces, something dawned on me. Their cruel entertainment, paid for with my dignity for eighteen years, had run its course.