Plot Twists Live Streaming Short Stories & Novels

After the college entrance exams ended, the class heartthrob suggested the whole class take a trip together. To save on costs, he rallied everyone to go sightseeing at my house instead. "Didn't Nico say his house was bigger than the Palace of Versailles, with more servants than anyone could count?" Everyone watched me like they were waiting for a show, eager to see me humiliated. I kindly warned them that once you set foot in my house, there was no leaving. Tyler Knight, the class heartthrob, laughed. "Doesn't matter. If your house is really that big, we'll stay for the rest of our lives. No, scratch that, we'll stay for the next eight hundred lifetimes. "Nico's really committed to the act. I want to see how he keeps bluffing once we actually show up at his place." Since everyone was dead set on going, I had no choice but to call my father, the King of Hell. "Dad, my classmates are coming over in a few days. Tell Agnes to make a few extra pots of her special soup."

Everything runs perfectly at my grilled‑fish restaurant until a famous food‑blogger Brandon Cooper turns up unannounced to film a review. To my horror, the moment he gets a good look at the fish in my tanks, his face goes pale. "Look, everyone! This is an endangered fish. Eat any one of these, and you could end up behind bars!" Overnight, my restaurant's shut down, I'm under investigation, and my entire family's being harassed online. Everything I've built over the past ten years is nearly destroyed. Once the investigation findings came out, the truth finally came to light. I got my chance to turn the tables. "I've lost at least two million dollars since my restaurant was shut down. It's time for you to pay up!"

The captain of our college cheer squad was drowning. I fought to pull her ashore and performed mouth-to-mouth in front of the entire student body and faculty. But three days later, she went live, sobbing, and accused me. "Owen Ellis pushed me into the water... He's wanted to force himself on me for ages! "He threatened me, too. He said if I didn't sleep with him, he'd post photos of him kissing me on a porn site and ruin me!" Overnight, I went from a lifesaving hero to a would-be rapist reviled across the internet. The university expelled me. My parents were doxxed by online mobs, lost their jobs, and both sank into depression. In my darkest moment, I stood at the same lake where I'd saved her and jumped. As the water closed over my head, a notification lit up my phone. The cheer captain was smiling on her livestream as hundreds of thousands of fans flooded the chat. The stream title read: "A Strong Girl Rises from the Ashes." When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment she started drowning. She was thrashing in the water, those wet eyes locked on mine, and she cried out. "Owen... save me..."

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.

I was the traitor everyone in the Flame Pack loathed. I was the former Alpha's sister, and at the Flame Pack's darkest hour, I abandoned my mate and my baby daughter and defected to our enemy, the Dark Moon Pack. I even killed my own brother and climbed over his corpse to become the Dark Moon Pack's Beta. Two months ago, gravely wounded, I collapsed on the Flame Pack's border. The guards on patrol threw me into prison and tortured me for information. I never said a word. My former mate, Eugene Carter, now the Alpha of the Flame Pack, kept delaying my execution on the grounds that there wasn't enough evidence. That angered everyone. Furious crowds took to the streets, marching and demanding the traitor be put to death at once. So Eugene's current mate, Edna Parker, proposed putting me on trial with the Memory Crystal. The Memory Crystal extracts a person's most important memories and projects them for everyone to see. The price is agony beyond human endurance, followed by death and the complete dissolution of the condemned person's soul. For ten years, Edna had passed along countless messages that helped the Flame Pack resist the Dark Moon Pack. Her contributions had been immense. Everyone supported her proposal, certain the Memory Crystal would prove my guilt once and for all. Eugene agreed. But none of them knew that the truth they were about to uncover with their own hands was far crueler than anything they had imagined.

Tomorrow was supposed to be my engagement party with my fiance, Jason Miller. To surprise him, I flew back a day earlier after spending three long years studying abroad in London. The moment my plane landed, I called him. But he just laughed and casually dropped a bombshell. He had lost a high-stakes poker game, and he had just wagered me off to his friend as a free maid for a month. Before I could even speak, my phone lit up with a notification. He had added me to his wealthy inner-circle group chat. The title was vicious. [Congrats to Marcus on his new ugly maid!] Jason dropped a photo of me, from before I left the country, into the chat. In the picture, my skin was broken out, my hair was a wild mess, and I had severe buckteeth that made me look completely awkward. The group chat exploded. "Holy crap, Jason! You're brutal! She looks frightening!" "A bet's a bet, Marcus! You gotta bring the monster to the yacht party tomorrow!" Someone immediately set up a poll, betting cash on whether I would actually have the nerve to show up in a swimsuit. Jason instantly dropped ten grand on the poll, betting I would hide in embarrassment. "Sorry to ruin your eyes, bro," he texted the group. "Just think of her as a free circus act." I stared at the screen, a cold smile touching my lips. He never bothered to call me while I was away. He had no idea I spent the last three years in Europe undergoing three hundred thousand dollars' worth of top-tier facial reconstruction and styling. He had no idea that a single unedited photo of my face was now pulling hundreds of thousands of followers online. They wanted a show? Tomorrow on that yacht, I would give them one.

My best friend and her boyfriend started a couples' vlog channel together, and it recently went viral online. I immediately followed it, watching every single upload. Yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that her blurred-out boyfriend acted suspiciously like my husband. When I mentioned it to her, she just flicked my forehead. "Girl, you're so crazy in love that you see your husband everywhere! Keep this up, and I'm gonna start getting jealous!" Blushing, I rubbed my head and quickly changed the subject. That was until my husband's company retreat, where I dragged Barbara Moore along to keep me company. Out of nowhere, our flight back suffered a severe emergency. Flight attendants handed out paper for everyone to write down their final words. With trembling hands, I finished writing mine, only to catch a glance at theirs. They had written down each other's names! My husband turned on his camera, framing both of them in the shot. "Barbara, I'm content to spend my final moments with you. Everyone, this channel won't be updating anymore. Goodbye." Neither of them noticed that off-camera, my face had gone deathly pale. Yet in the end, the plane managed to land safely. None of us died. I didn't cry or throw a scene. Instead, I simply tore up my final note, opened the car door, and got in. "What are you guys standing there for? Get in."

In my sixth year of running an inn in Rimevale, I'm diagnosed with bone cancer. I leave the inn in the hands of my fiancé, Eric Jones, and head to Varenia with nothing but an old enamel mug. Once I'm there, I start a livestream called "My Last 100 Sunsets." Every day at 7:00 pm, I turn the camera toward the snowcapped mountains and make coffee just out of frame. On my 31st livestream, a comment suddenly catches my eye. "Wait. Does that mug at the edge of the frame have a V-shaped chip in it?" Six years ago, when a blizzard left us stranded in the mountains, I kept that same mug filled with hot spiced cider for Eric all night. The chat explodes. "That's Alice Graham from Veylune Inn!" "Alice, why are you calling these your last sunsets?" Then a private message from Eric pops up. "Alice, where are you? Send me your location right now." What he doesn't know is that the night before I start chemo, I go back to the inn to get my documents and hear him and our receptionist, Denise Snyder, together in our bedroom. They're in the bed I picked out for us. "What if Alice comes back and catches us?" Denise asks. Eric laughs. "She won't leave me. Not after six years together." Standing outside the door, I open the confirmation email from an assisted-dying clinic in Varenia and click "Accept." By the time more than 100,000 people have signed up to watch my 100th livestream, Eric finally recognizes the snowcapped mountains outside my window and realizes where I am. I change the stream title to "My 100th Sunset: I Won't Be Here for Sunrise."

My husband, Mitch Cooley, has been with me through my fifth year of battling depression. While searching for recipes online, a notification for a late-night livestream for anonymous confessions pops up on my phone screen. "What's the biggest lie your husband has ever told you?" I tap on the notification out of curiosity as my eyes are drawn to the profile picture showing two hands tightly clasped together. The interviewee replies, "I'm still single, but if it's about my stupid best friend, then she'd been lied to by her husband three times. "The first time, her ex-boyfriend died in a car crash while cheating on her, and her now-husband hid the truth on purpose so that she thought the main reason her ex died was that she wanted to break up with him. "Her husband knew all along that her ex-boyfriend had been cheating on her with me, but he watched her try to slit her wrists in remorse multiple times without telling her the truth. "As for the third time, I just mentioned to her husband that he could only ever have a baby with me, and he immediately got himself a certificate proving that he was sexually frigid and refused to sleep with her. "But the most ridiculous thing is that my best friend still stupidly went to get an IVF done while I was rolling in the sheets with her husband every night." I feel alarm bells go off in my head. Mitch had also suddenly experienced sexual frigidity recently. The hospital he went to for treatment was one recommended by my best friend, Lexie Moyer. My hands tremble as I click on the interviewee's profile picture. I then realize that the red mole on the ring finger is the exact same one on Mitch's finger. The interviewee's tone suddenly turns low and restrained. "Even when her husband told her today that he would be working overtime at the company, when he was actually keeping me and our son company, she still made a whole table of dishes waiting for him to come home." I freeze on the spot the moment the interviewee's voice changer malfunctions for a bit. I know that voice too well. It is Lexie's.

The night before the Global Finals, my boyfriend, our team captain, handed my starting spot to an academy trainee just to indulge her. Every question I got wrong, I had to hand over a piece of gear that had carried me through championships. But every answer had been rigged from the start. In the end, he pulled my account key and gave my Finals seat to the trainee. "Just let her play one match. You're twenty-six, stop being so petty." I snapped my account card in half on the spot and signed the termination papers they'd drawn up. The whole team expected me to crawl back to base. But when the Finals lineups took the stage, I was wearing our rivals' starting jersey, standing on the other side. They still had no idea who had really been carrying whom to those three straight championships.

My best friend Chloe jumped off a cliff and killed herself after being assaulted. I was the only one who knew the monster who did it. Yet, I refused to tell anyone the truth. When her mother knelt at my feet and begged, I turned my back on her and walked away. The citizens cursed me, calling me a monster, and drove me out of the city-state. I accepted it all in silence. For the next ten years, I lived a miserable, lonely life in the woods, barely scraping by. Until I was weak and on the verge of death. Juliette, the best friend Chloe and I shared, returned to the city as the High Priestess of Athena. The very first thing she did was drag me to the Altar of Divine Punishment. "Olivia, you vicious bitch! You protected the monster who ruined her! We were blind to ever call you a sister!" "Chloe has been dead for ten years, and you let that bastard walk free for just as long!" "Today, I’m going to use Athena’s Mirror of Truth to see exactly who you’ve been protecting with your life!" But when the real culprit was finally revealed, Juliette broke down completely, dropping to her knees in pure disbelief.

I was only seven when my dad, Michael Carter, jumped into the river to save a drowning man. I was still playing in the sand on the riverbank. By the time a crowd had gathered and Dad was pulled from the water, his body had turned blue. He wasn't breathing. And the grown man Dad had risked his life to save? He swam back to shore on his own, shook off the water, muttered, "Just my luck," and walked away. Mom never smiled again after that. She worked three jobs to keep our family afloat. A year later, she collapsed from exhaustion at the textile mill and never woke up. Every spring, Grandma took me to visit their graves. She would cry and say the same thing every year. "If only I hadn't taken you to play by the river that day." Then I opened my eyes, and I was seven again. Dad was pulling off his jacket and tossing it to me. He pointed at the figure struggling in the river. "Stay right here, Mia. Dad's going to save him." The next second, I darted past him and jumped into the river. "Dad. "I can't swim."

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."

In the continent of Elysium, magic has dried up and monsters have descended. The only way to survive is to participate in a game called "Hide and Seek." Only the winning races receive rewards and a chance to live. The Werewolf Clan drew me—a twenty-two-year-old half-blood werewolf. I was painfully thin, having been locked in a dungeon for the past fifteen years. The live chat scrolling before my eyes was filled with despair: [What the hell? This is our clan’s representative?] [A girl a strong breeze could knock over? Is she even an adult?] [I bet she bursts into tears the second she sees a monster.] [It’s over. We’re so dead. I knew we’d lose this time. Are the werewolves really going to be wiped out...] But they didn't know that staring at the gloomy, ancient castle, I wasn't scared. I was thrilled. Best of all, I’d already found an interesting helper: a man kneeling to kiss the back of my hand, calling me his... "little master."