Plot Twists Short Stories & Independence Live Streaming Novels

Brandon Hawthorne said if I wanted to marry him, I had to prove I was tough enough to be a Hawthorne. He took my bank cards, ditched me in a city I'd never been to, and made me figure out how to get home alone. When my fever hit 104°F, he still refused to let the family doctor through the door. Instead, I had to smile through dinner with a house full of Hawthorne relatives while I could barely stay on my feet. And every time I finally asked Brandon for help, he looked at me like I'd failed him. "You can't even handle something this simple. How are you supposed to be my wife?" But when his childhood friend, Patty Rowan, got blisters from her shoes, he picked her up and carried her away in front of everyone. She got a headache in the middle of the night, and he left me alone in the hospital to take the family doctor to her. I asked him why. He frowned. "Patty's fragile. And she's not the one trying to become a Hawthorne." Then came our engagement party. I accidentally ate peanuts. My throat started closing. I couldn't breathe. Brandon grabbed my EpiPen and locked me in the lounge. "This is your final test. If you want to marry me, tough it out." Then Patty called. She had a paper cut. Brandon immediately left with the doctor. "Hold out for ten minutes." I lost track of time. Right before everything went dark, I saw Brandon come back with Patty tucked close beside him. She had a Band-Aid on her finger. Through the haze, I heard the disappointment in his voice. "Patty was bleeding, and she didn't even cry. Are you seriously pretending to be dead?" Then came the final blow. "You failed the test. You're not ready to become a Hawthorne."

After being severely hurt by my husband once again, a reporter comes to me. "Ma'am, wasn't your husband one of the 'Top Ten Most Touching People' ten years ago after he saved you during the earthquake and ended up paralyzed on one side?" I nodded silently. "Ma'am, we're from the TV station, and we're preparing to do a program on the earthquake." I secretly rub my bruised arm and stare at him. "Alright, but could you film it covertly? My husband isn't comfortable with so many cameras around." But to my surprise, on the first day of filming, I end up getting wildly cursed at online.

On the seventh day after I was pronounced dead, my husband, William Garcia, turned me into an obedient AI wife. During a global live press conference, he hugged my holographic projection and said in a hoarse voice as though truly heartbroken that he had lost me, “Tiffany, don’t be scared. From now on, you’re accompanying me in another way.” The internet praised him for being the most devoted husband in the tech world. But no one knew that I actually wasn’t dead. My body was hidden in the third basement floor of Garcia Tech’s office building. I was hanging by a thread, kept alive only by an oxygen tube. My conscience had been connected to a Late Wife Companion System, and I was set to say “good morning,” “good night,” and “I love you” to him at fixed times every day. Backstage at the press conference, top celebrity Wanda Scott leaned into William’s embrace, with a sapphire ring that my mom had left me on her finger. She asked with a smile, “William, is Tiffany a lot more obedient now than she was before?” William bowed his head and kissed her. “Tiffany used to be too smart, too ambitious, and too unwilling to submit. “It’s just nice now.” Wanda asked again, “What will happen to her after I become Mrs. Garcia?” William chuckled. “I’ll switch her to housekeeper mode. “She’ll greet you by the title Madam every day, pick out your wedding gown for you, and read our children bedtime stories.” Suddenly, a technician rushed in, his face pale. “Mr. Garcia, AI Mrs. Garcia keeps repeating a phrase backstage.” William furrowed his brows. “What?” The technician’s voice trembled. “She keeps saying, ‘William, I’m still alive.’” William fell silent for two seconds, the look on his face growing cold. “Delete it. “Clear out her SOS module, anger module, and resistance module.” The camera was still live, and the entire internet heard him. At the next second, my holographic projection on the big screen suddenly lifted its head. I said to the thousands of viewers in the gentle voice he trained me to have, “William Garcia, what right do you have to expect a woman you murdered to still love you?”

When the kiss cam swept across the stands at the baseball stadium Warren Doyle, a married investor in the league, had his arms around his PR director and was kissing her. The two of them went up on the jumbotron, and the crowd erupted in hoots and cheers. Warren stormed into the camera bay and demanded I hand over my camera. I told him the camera pointed wherever the control room told it to. He stared at me for a few seconds, then suddenly let go and let me leave. I thought that was the end of it. The next day, audio from the crew channel shot to the top of the news feeds, with nothing left in it but two ambiguous lines from me. "Camera locked on row seven. Keep rolling. Don't cut." Overnight I became the shameless camera operator who'd filmed them on purpose. I was suspended from my job, my father's food cart was trashed, and Warren sued me for a million dollars. But he didn't know that the recording he was using to convict me could only ever convict him.

The year I turned sixteen, the water supply of Moonlight Pack was contaminated. A desperate, burning thirst spread through every household. Owen was the one who found me half-dead and carried me home. His parents didn't just open their door to me. They shared what little water and food they had left. Everyone said it was because we were fated mates, destined to be together. But anyone could see the truth. His family loved me from the bottom of their hearts. The year I turned twenty, Owen asked me to be his mate. He gave me a silver dagger he'd forged with his own hands. He said that when he wasn't by my side, this dagger would protect me in his place. That very night, I used it to kill everyone in his family.

On the Memorial Day weekend, Mason Hayes, the student my wife, Abigail Sullivan, had been sponsoring, insisted on riding with me back to his hometown. My car was small, the drive was long, and the trunk was already packed. There was no way to fit another adult, so I turned him down as politely as I could. That night, Abigail came home and stayed quiet for a long time before finally saying, "He ended up walking along the highway. His feet were torn up." I frowned, trying to make sense of it. "It's a holiday weekend. There are Ubers everywhere. He could've booked one in minutes." She nodded softly, the same gentle expression she always wore, and poured me a glass of water. I drank it. The next thing I knew, everything went black. When I opened my eyes again, I was standing under a brutal midday sun on an empty stretch of highway. Abigail leaned into Mason's shoulder, holding her phone up as she livestreamed. There was a faint smile on her lips, but there was nothing warm about it. "You said getting around was easy, right? Why don't you try walking home yourself?" The livestream was packed. The chat flooded with messages, people placing bets on how far I would make it. I looked straight into the camera, ran my tongue over my cracked lips, and said, "Done enjoying the show? Now come and pick me up."

I'm working the overnight shift at a convenience store, restocking shelves, when a female live streamer bursts through the front door at 2:00 am. She holds her phone out in front of her, broadcasting live to over 600 thousand viewers online. The camera sweeps across the store before zeroing right in on me. "You're still working the overnight shift at a convenience store at your age? Are you just not planning on getting married?" I don't even bother looking up. "Not really interested." She gives me a knowing smile. "Oh. I guess your income doesn't really allow for it, huh?" The comments in the live chat explode instantly. [A night shift clerk talking about marriage? How absurd!] [He's only making 1,500 dollars a month, and he thinks he can afford a wife?] [LMAO! As if any woman would actually marry him.] [Just a sexually frustrated guy trying to save his pride.] [ROFL! What a brutal reality check!] I place the last bag of chips onto the shelf and stand up. "Come. Let's talk." The next day, the streamer is canceled and banned across the internet.

Ten minutes before the IPO, my lower body started burning with intense pain. The pain was so bad that my knees buckled and I fell from the stairs on the third floor. I hit my forehead, which started bleeding, and fresh blood dripped into my eyes. As I convulsed on the ground, my hands covered my crotch as my skin felt like it was being fried in boiling oil. My fiancée, Yvette James, came over in her high heels and kicked me in the thigh. "What's with all the pretense? It's just half a bottle of ointment poured down your pants." Her bestie, Henry Curtis, had his phone held toward me as he livestreamed the situation. He was bent over from laughing too hard. "Check this out, fam! This penniless loser is burning from the waist down! It's too funny!" I could hardly breathe from the pain, and I begged Yvette to get me an ambulance. Yvette rolled her eyes and pushed the camera into my face. "Henry is targeting 100,000 viewers for this live stream! Can you scream louder? Don't be a buzzkill! That thing between your legs is just like a toothpick. That ointment might give you a growth spurt, so you should thank me for it." My lower body had gone numb from the pain, and I saw the comments section ridiculing me. I stopped begging for help as I stared coldly at Yvette while giving the orders to pull her funds. "The wedding is off. Be prepared for your company's bankruptcy."

After my parents get divorced, my twin brother, Archer Sullivan, chooses one parent to live with. I choose to be with Mom. After the divorce, Mom's mood is at an all-time low. She gambles away all of the money we have, and she begins bringing various men home the moment she runs out of money. I have to move into a dark and damp apartment with Mom afterward. Lewd sounds keep drifting from her room every now and then. Every day, I have to secretly take on part-time work in order to earn my living expenses, on top of going to school. Life is very harsh and bitter for me. That is, until Archer, whom I haven't kept in touch with for a very long time, sends me a link to a streaming website. "Tap on the link, Adam. It's a surprise for you." I tap on the link, only to realize that the livestream that's on top of the trending list features… me? It's a livestream with a split-screen function. One screen shows me finishing my homework under the dim light in a cheap apartment. The other screen shows my parents cuddling with Archer happily while seated on a luxurious couch in a villa. "Let's see what sort of differences there will be between a pair of twins that are raised differently till they're 18 years old!" "I suppose the older twin doesn't realize that his parents never got divorced, and that his family is actually very rich! Both parents are still living happily together. Even his younger brother is living a great life." "That poor twin, though! He's living a very difficult life without three hot meals a day! Isn't this considered abuse?" "Well, that older twin is more understanding and obedient, isn't he? That's why his parents chose to make him suffer in life."