Plot Twists Short Stories & Hypocrisy Family Emotions Novels

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.

My parents’ adoptive daughter took three kids hiking with her, and they ended up dead. They wanted me to take the blame for her. My father forced me to kneel before the families of the victims and crushed my calf with his hiking pole. “These were the legs she used to take your kids hiking. I’ll make sure she never gets to hike again.” My mother legally disowned me. “Jenny will be breaking hiking records one day. I won’t let anyone bring up her shameful sister when that happens! She’s sacrificed so much for you all these years, and it’s time you paid her back.” My boyfriend promised me, “Jenny has nothing. She would not survive if she had to endure all this, but at least you have me. I’ll be here for you no matter what happens. They’re just angry, but they won’t send you to jail. You can come home once everything settles down.” To defend the reputation of my adoptive sister, he and my parents worked together to falsify evidence and send me to jail. “It’s to protect you,” they promised, “so the families don’t take revenge on you.” They did not know I had already given up on them.

My name is Danielle Crawford. My younger brother, Darrell Crawford, is bringing his girlfriend, Vivian Gallagher, home for Thanksgiving. When she changes her shoes in the entryway and notices my pink slippers, she suddenly looks up and says sweetly, "Danielle, you're Darry's sister-in-law, right? I heard you've been a widow for two years. Have you… been living here this whole time?" Her eyes dart back and forth between Darrell and me. I frown, and I'm about to explain when she beats me to it. "Let's get one thing straight. Once Darrell and I tie the knot, you'll have to move out. I'm not going to let you stay here and act like you're Darrell's responsibility!" Darrell's face turns bright red. Looking at me awkwardly, he mutters, "Elle, Vivi didn't mean it like that—" I slap him across the face and snap, "A fallen officer's family is being insulted right in front of you. Are you blind or deaf?"

I always thought my wife was just an ordinary "brother-loving sister," the kind who would do anything for her brother. But one night, I watched in frozen horror as she dismembered her brother in our storage room. Then, as if nothing had happened, she turned and looked straight at me. She flashed her usual gentle smile. "Honey," she called softly, her voice sweet and familiar—exactly the same as always.

After reuniting with my family, I become the real son in a story about a fake heir and the real one. But on the 15th of every month, my sister, Ingrid Lawson, and I switch bodies for a day. Whenever I'm in her body, I carefully maintain her professional relationships and do my best to protect her image as the heiress. But she treats my life like a joke she can end whenever she wants. One month, she puts the fake heir Don Lawson's name on the proposal I have worked so hard on. The next month, she tears up my diagnosis of severe depression. When I tell her to stop, she just laughs impatiently. "Depression? That's just your tactic to get the inheritance. "Don has been frail since he was a kid. What's so hard about giving in to him? No wonder Mom and Dad don't like you. You're so petty. "Since you can't learn how to behave, I'll show you how a good brother should act." During our eighth body swap, she signs my consent form to donate a kidney to Don. I'm completely disillusioned, but she just shrugs it off. "Don isn't in good health. It's just a kidney. Why can't you donate it? It's our last body swap, so stop being selfish." If that's how she wants it, I don't care anymore. She doesn't know that the pair of pendants only lets us switch bodies nine times. After the final swap, we'll both be trapped in each other's bodies forever.

On the day the kidnappers killed my son, I did not cry. I paid top dollar for the best lawyer in the city to argue that the kidnapper was innocent. And once he was free, I signed ten percent of my shares over to him. I also gave him the house my son had loved most. My husband, Alex Thomas, slapped me in front of the press. He called me a cold-blooded monster. People on social media boycotted my company and demanded my family kick me out. I endured every insult and every attack in silence. At the review hearing, I looked at my husband. "I thought you, of all people, would understand me."

When I heard my younger brother was bringing his girlfriend home, I took annual leave, bought gifts, and flew back for the occasion. The moment I arrived, I found my luggage dumped carelessly outside the front door. My parents looked surprised to see me, but quickly recovered. "Ryan's girlfriend only wants to marry an only child, so we've been telling people Ryan has no siblings. You need to stay somewhere else for now and introduce yourself as a distant cousin from now on. "Don't blame us. Everything in this family will belong to your brother eventually. A daughter leaves when she marries." As they spoke, Ryan tossed the last of my belongings outside as though they were trash. "Finally. All that junk was an eyesore." My fingers slowly tightened around my purse, which still held the heavy gold bracelet I had bought as a welcome gift. Fine. Since I was only a distant cousin, they could stop living in my house. I turned around and pulled out my phone. "Hello. I'd like to sell the house in Maple Gardens. List it twenty thousand below market."

My uncle had kidney failure, and I was a match, but I did not want to donate. I had looked it up online. Some donors ended up weak for the rest of their lives, stuck taking medication forever. I hated taking pills. Mom said that was all nonsense. A person could live perfectly fine with one kidney, she told me. It would not affect my life at all. She also said that if I did this one small favor for him, Grandma would finally love me the same way she loved my cousin. However, I did not even like my maternal grandmother. She played favorites. Grandma loved Uncle Oliver, so she loved his son more than he loved me. Every time we visited, Grandma and Grandpa fussed over my cousin and bought him all his favorite snacks while they handed me bruised apples. That was with Mom giving up most of her paycheck every month to take care of them. Still, if donating a kidney really was just a small procedure, then it was worth it to make Mom happy. I was about to sign the consent form when a wall of text appeared in front of me. [Does the main character in every second-chance story have to get screwed over and die before they grow a brain?] I would get screwed over and die? My hand froze on the pen. Another comment floated into view. [Wake up! If you donate that kidney, your health will be compromised for life. Say goodbye to every decent job. And nobody's going to thank you for it!] [And later, your mom's going to blame you for not having a good job, for not being someone she can show off to your grandma!] [She's going to clean out your savings and give it all to your uncle for some business scheme just to stay in your grandma's good graces. And when you try to get your money back? You'll be too weak to put up a fight. They'll literally beat you to death!] Mom frowned when she noticed me spacing out. "What are you dragging your feet for, Cody? I'm your mother. Would I ever set you up?"

My parents were renowned educators, celebrated as top-tier teachers who mentored countless high achievers. Yet, I was the black sheep of the family, consistently bringing home failing grades. After yet another gentle reminder from my homeroom teacher, my mom erupted in frustration. "How could I have given birth to such a foolish child? You only exist to torture me!" She disappeared for three days. When she returned, she brought a girl with her. "From today on, Cora is my real daughter. You are forbidden to call us Mom or Dad ever again. Get out. Only when you can pass your exams will you be worthy of being my daughter!" Our next encounter was at the hospital, during the school staff's annual physical check. The dean spotted me, speaking. "Renee, isn't this your daughter? Sherry works here now! That means Cora's illness can be treated. Ask her to introduce you to the new director!" My mother's gaze landed on my white coat and shifted from shock to irritation. "She changed jobs and didn't even bother to tell me?" I discreetly covered the badge pinned to my chest, trying to conceal my status. I was now Evie Coffey, the director of Obstetrics and Gynecology.

After Mom stabbed Aunt Serena and was sent to prison, Aunt Serena became our new mother. The same Serena who used to “wrestle” with Dad in bed every afternoon at three o’clock. Everyone praised her for being kind and virtuous. They said she treated her husband’s children from his first marriage as if they were her own. She was practically the perfect stepmother. I believed them too. So when she told me there was a way to get to heaven and see Mom again, I believed her. I even carried along the baby brother she had just given birth to. And together, we followed her lie all the way to heaven.

To teach me to behave, my parents forged a paternity test and declared I was not their biological son. My sister ignored my pleas and had me committed to a psychiatric hospital. "You troublemaker, why don't you just die?" they sneered. Even the fiancée I loved most watched with icy eyes and used her connections to make sure I suffered inside. After five years, I finally knew how to keep my head down. So why did they suddenly demand I return to the arrogant heir I once was?

I was 9 years old when my wealthy biological family finally found me. They said there was nothing wrong with me, except that I was obsessed with money. When my biological mother, Janine Stevens, tried to hug me, I asked, "How much do I get for a hug?" When my biological father, Paul Faris, invited me to a family dinner, I asked, "Does that count as overtime?" When my older brother, Andrew Faris, asked me to fetch him a glass of water, I held out my hand. "Forty cents. Pay up front." My entire family was furious. But my adoptive sister, Lisa Faris, always came to my defense with tears in her eyes. "Tara had such a difficult childhood. She's just insecure. Please don't hold it against her." Naturally, everyone felt even sorrier for Lisa, and their contempt for me only deepened. Eventually, my family sent me to a televised children's behavior correction program that aired live across the country. The host asked, "Do you know why your parents sent you here?" I thought for a moment before answering with a straight face, "Because they pay appearance fees here." The livestream erupted. [She's only 9, and she's already this obsessed with money?] [The Faris family's biological daughter is such an embarrassment.] [Lisa is the one who looks like a real little princess from a wealthy family.] Andrew immediately scowled. "All she cares about is money. She's bringing shame on the Faris family." Lisa, however, gently took my hand. "It's not her fault. She just doesn't understand yet that money can't buy love." The entire internet branded me a greedy little debt collector. That was until the production team announced a segment that required all the children to surrender their personal belongings. The other children burst into tears as they handed over their game consoles, candy jars, and comic books. But when my turn came, I desperately clutched the old metal box I had hidden beneath my bed. When the production team finally pried it open, everyone fell silent. The entire internet was stunned.

Right after my father dies, I receive a call from the hospital, urging me to settle the hospital bills. "You're the next of kin for Carl Stone, Bed 23 of the Neurology Ward, correct? You still owe the hospital 246,000 dollars. Kindly settle the bill as soon as possible." The call completely catches me off guard. I turn around to look at my father's body in the casket. A rush of anger courses through me, but I suppress it and say, "I'm afraid you've made a mistake. My father is no longer a patient at the hospital." "I knew people like you would never admit to it. Do you think you can get away with it just because you snuck him out of the hospital without permission? "I'm giving you 24 hours to complete the payment. You don't want to find out what will happen if you don't!" Well, now I'm furious. "Go ahead and test me."

Through seven years of secret marriage, I was nothing more than an obedient, tirelessly devoted assistant to Don Nathan Harrison. He walked the red carpet at high-profile galas with Susan Ferell, his business partner’s daughter. He booked an entire castle just to host an exclusive rose-themed banquet for her and spent millions at an auction to buy her a crown-jewel diamond necklace once owned by royalty. Their names dominated the headlines daily, dubbed by the Siciamira media as the ultimate power couple of high society. For the first time, I didn't make a scene or shed a single tear. Even when I found that royal diamond necklace intended for Susan tucked away in Nathan’s suit pocket, I simply pulled it out and quietly set it on the vanity. Nathan convinced himself that I had finally grown sensible and understood the overwhelming sacrifices he was making for our future. What he didn't know was that the world's top global syndicate had just tracked me down, crowning me as the sole heir to a century-old empire. And the signed divorce papers were already stamped, processed, and on their way from the courthouse straight to his front door.

My husband had just ducked into the bathroom when his phone started ringing. I glanced at the screen and saw it was his brother calling. A frown creased my brow, but I answered anyway. "George, why haven't you sent the $10,000 to Mom and Dad this month?" Ross Serrano said. "Mom just asked me about it." I hung up without a word, but a rush of fury surged through me. My husband stood at the bathroom door, his hands still dripping wet. I forced a bitter smile. "You make $8,000 a month, right? $3,000 goes to the mortgage, $2,000 to me, and you pocket $1,000 for yourself. You told me you sent $2,000 to your parents, so how did that magically turn into $10,000?" His lips quivered, his face draining of color. My heart sank, and my hands trembled uncontrollably. We'd been married for five years, and I'd never once laid eyes on his bank card. What other secrets was he keeping from me?

On my sixth year of serving in a war zone, my request to return to headquarters was denied again. The reason was simple. Hospital policy didn't allow close family members to work in the same department. Since Natalie Hart and I were married, my return would be considered a conflict of interest. I refused to accept that. So, I quietly snuck back to Hartwell to demand an explanation. However, I heard a conversation that made me stop short right outside the administration office. "You've blocked Liam Hayes's transfer for five years all because of Noah Bennett," the department director snapped. "Liam ages out next year. This is his last chance to return." Natalie's face remained unreadable. "There's only one transfer slot this year. Noah gets it. Liam can go home and be a stay-at-home husband if he has to. Noah is different. He has ambition." The director slammed a hand on the desk. "And Liam doesn't? His dream was always to work at headquarters." His voice sharpened. "You were the one who had him sent to a war zone in the first place. Now you're blocking his only chance to come back. Noah barely passed his evaluations. He would've been removed years ago if you hadn't kept him under your wing. "Do you honestly think you can protect him forever?" For the first time, anger flashed across Natalie's face. "Liam went there as my husband. How much could he have suffered?" Her tone grew icy. "Noah has no connections. If he were sent out there, it would ruin him. I'll take responsibility for Noah's training. I won't let anyone harm him." Outside the door, my eyes burned. I pulled out my phone and called my lawyer. "Draft the divorce papers. As fast as possible." I wasted five years all for a woman who had stopped loving me long ago. I no longer wanted to waste any more time on her. I no longer wanted to love her anymore.

My name is Jacob Brewer, and I'm the oldest child in my family. Both my parents are top graduates from elite colleges. My younger sister, Willow Brewer, is in third grade and gets perfect scores in every subject. My little brother, Ivan Brewer, has only just learned to talk, yet he can already recite the periodic table from memory. And then there's me, forever scraping by with barely passing grades. So when Willow cashes in her perfect grades for a family trip to Serova over the Christmas holiday, I volunteer to stay home. "I'll stay behind and take care of Grandma since she's paralyzed." Mom hesitates, but Dad simply turns to me and says coldly, "Fine by me. Being a good son might be the only thing you've got going for you anyway." I force the bitterness down and nod resolutely. I know this is already the highest praise they can give me. Being a good son is the only thing that gives me a place in this family. But I never expected that, right after my parents leave, Grandma dies unexpectedly while she's in my care. Then, moments later, I hear my parents' car crash through the phone. As I stare at Grandma's lifeless body on the bed and listen to the crash through the phone, I decide the useless me might as well go with them. Only later do I learn that the crash was nothing but a recording Dad had prepared for me, just to test whether my devotion to my family is genuine. And in the end, I give him my answer with my life.

The day my mom was beaten up for being a mistress, I slammed the family crest into my dad’s face. I had been studying abroad, and on my return flight, I came across a video. The title read, [Richest Family’s Heirs Defend Their Mom and Beat Up Mistress.] In the video, my mother was wearing coarse linen clothes while my brothers surrounded her. They were punching and kicking her. They even tore her clothes and cussed her out as a shameless mistress. Her eyes were teary as she desperately tried to explain. However, she was only met with mocking laughter. A stranger in haute couture stood shielded behind them, and she sweetly said, “Alright, I know you’re doing this for me, but we don’t need to waste our time on ungrateful people.” The surrounding guests showered her with birthday wishes and praised her for her graciousness. “This is the grace befitting Mrs. Roth! Do some people really not own a mirror at home?” “A mistress dares to call herself Mrs. Roth? Doesn’t she know the entire Roth family was built on her assets? Which part of her looks like a lady?” Hearing them call her “Mrs. Roth,” I clenched my phone, and the screen reflected my icy expression. I had only been away from home for three years. How did I not know that I had acquired such a despicable “mother”?

I land a 30-million-dollar deal for my parents' factory. On payday, my older sister, Hailey Irving, receives a 50,000-dollar bonus. Meanwhile, my younger brother, Hanson Irving, gets a 100,000-dollar bonus. But my pay slip shows only one line—Base Salary 3,000 dollars. "Hailey hasn't made a single mistake in the books in ten years. As encouragement, you get a 50,000-dollar bonus." "All the clients praise Hanson for being handsome and charming. He deserves the most credit for landing this big deal, so I'm giving him a 100,000-dollar bonus." Before I can even react, Mom throws 30 crumpled bills at me while saying with disdain, "Someone who's both stupid and ugly needs to work harder. Don't think putting in more effort means you're worth more. That's all the value you create." I stare at my pay slip, feeling dazed. My parents raise us to be independent, so everything in our family comes with a price tag. A plate of steak and fries costs 30 dollars. A ten-minute hot shower costs 50 dollars. To earn money, my siblings and I have to work at our parents' factory from a young age. Hailey is good at math, so she sits in the air-conditioned office writing receipts. Hanson is handsome, so he works as a greeter in the reception room, where snacks are available in unlimited supply. As for me, I was the family’s all-purpose errand runner, forced to fill in wherever help was needed. I unload shipments, sweep floors, and even go out to negotiate business deals. However, all three of us earn the same base salary of 3,000 dollars per month. If I want meat for my meals, I have to work desperately hard and constantly find ways to create more value. But now, I no longer understand what all that hard work is for. I lower my head and take out my phone to search through the spam messages until I find the one offering me a high-paying job.

Although I was the second child in the family, my mother loved me the most. When Dad bought my sister a new dress, she stayed up late knitting a sweater for me. When Grandma took my younger brother out for burgers, she baked me a homemade sponge cake. Until the New Year’s Eve dinner. Dad placed the big chicken drumstick onto my sister’s plate. Grandma immediately stuffed the other one into my brother’s. My mother hurriedly picked the chicken wing from her plate and placed it onto mine, smiling as she said, “I saved this especially for you.” The relatives laughed and teased, “Your family really has a clear division of love. Everyone spoils a different child. What a loving family.” The next second, I suddenly flipped the table. Under everyone’s stunned gaze, I grabbed that chicken wing and shoved it straight into my mother’s mouth.