Historias cortas de Feel-Good Story y novelas con Lovesick Fool ambientadas en Face Slapping

My dormmate invites me to a college mate's engagement party. I choose an expensive tailor-made gown for the occasion. When I arrive at the hotel, I see several of my former classmates are already there. Everyone looks like they're doing well—they're wearing expensive clothing. Someone is even wearing something from a luxury brand. As soon as I enter the private room, a familiar classmate rolls her eyes at me. "Look at who it is—the woman who was once the most outstanding student in our class. You're dressed so plainly for such an important occasion." Everyone is circled around the classmate who's wearing something from a luxury brand. They ignore me. Only our former class monitor clinks glasses with me and consoles me softly. "It's good enough that you're here. You're dressed plainly, but don't give up. You'll succeed one day." I sip my wine and smile. "My outfit may not be too opulent, but it's an expensive, tailor-made piece. It's 100% handcrafted by a master designer."

My superior, who attains his position through connections, turns out to be the high school heartthrob I once pursued—Jack Montgomery. Back then, I gave up on studying literature despite being good at it to study science instead. As a result, my grade point average dropped from 3.9 to 2.1, and I ended up attending a community college. Jack, on the other hand, earned a Master's degree in business in Ezelia. He became the director of the investment management department at a company upon his return. He mocks me for being a lovesick fool who chose to study science for his sake and now has to work for him. His words successfully provoke me into action. I work as a low-level analyst while staying up late every day to prepare for the Graduate Management Admission Test. I plan to turn my life around with this, but I end up dropping dead from overwork. When I open my eyes again, I'm back at the critical moment of course selection in my sophomore year. This time, I decisively choose to study literature and kick that scumbag, Jack, aside. "Nobody is allowed to hinder my studies!" He claims that I'm playing hard to get, and all I think is that he's ill in the head. Let's see who gets the last laugh when I make it into the prestigious Hareford University!

My boss had a new boyfriend called Eugene Larson. The first day he came to the office, he put on a great show of exerting his dominance. He deleted my number from my boss's phone right in front of me. Eugene waved his phone in front of me while playing innocently. "You can talk to me about anything you need to communicate to Tina, Mr. Sanders. I'll help you pass the message to her. I don't have much sense of security, so please don't mind this. It's to avoid any misunderstanding between us." I was hoping my boss, Tina Kayden, would be able to say something fair on my behalf, but all she did was stare at Eugene approvingly and adoringly throughout the conversation. She turned to me and said, "This is a pretty good plan, Mr. Sanders. Do take good care of Eugene from now on." As there was no way for me to reject her, I was forced to add Eugene's contact to my phone. However, the moment he had my number, he flooded my phone with messages. [Mr. Sanders, is the client you're meeting tomorrow with the surname Charleston a man or a woman?] [Where are you having the meeting tomorrow? Wear something casual tomorrow. It would be best if you avoid washing your face and hair. Otherwise, I would think you're trying to seduce my wife.] [I believe your relationship with Tina is innocent. You're not allowed to betray me because I'm treating you like my buddy!] [By the way, you have an extra duty from now on. You need to remind Tina every 30 minutes to send me a message telling me that she loves me.] As I read these ridiculous messages, I laughed in anger. I put my phone on silent mode and flung it to the side before going to bed. The next morning, I woke up to dozens of missed calls on my phone.

I was the daughter of the Blackwood Pack's Alpha, and my mate, Damien, was the Alpha heir of the neighboring Pack. We grew up together, and when we turned eighteen, our wolves recognized each other as mates. I thought I would be happy forever, until Damien rescued an Omega named Sarah at the border. She was beautiful, appearing as fragile and innocent as a doe. Two months later, Damien finally made his decision. "Elena, let's break the mate bond. My wolf might have chosen you, but that's just instinct. I’ve never actually loved you, Elena. You've always just been like a sister to me." In my past life, I cried until I fainted. My father, heartbroken for me, personally pressured the Shadowcrest elders. Ultimately, Damien was thrown into the dungeon and Sarah was exiled. However, Sarah was killed by rogue wolves on her way out of our territory. Damien remained despondent for six months. Eventually, through my patient companionship and care, he pulled himself together and marked me. But fifteen years later, as I lay in bed suffering from silver poisoning, Damien appeared before me holding Sarah’s hand. He personally injected the final dose of silver into my body, watching me struggle and die in agony. But when I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the year I turned eighteen. After my rebirth, I severed all ties with my Alpha mate, Damien. In my previous life, I had spent six months pushing myself through combat training I wasn't suited for just to attend the Alpha Academy with him, leaving my body covered in scars. This time, I tore up the admission offer and headed to the Royal Lycan Academy of Healing in Europe. Years later, I returned to the pack house for my marking ceremony with my second chance mate—the Alpha King, the most powerful werewolf in existence. Damien knelt outside the pack house, his eyes bloodshot. "Please, just give me another chance to love you..."

Three days after my father’s death, I was home, planning his funeral. A woman and a group of bodyguards stormed in. She shoved me, hard. "Who the hell do you think you are?" she screamed. "Get out of my house! Now!" I froze, stunned. A new housekeeper? Maybe my brother Liam hired her. I kept my voice calm. "This house is mine. Liam knows that. If you have a problem, take it up with him." Her face twisted into a mask of rage. Then she slapped me. "Yours?" She scoffed, looking me up and down with disgust. "This is my boyfriend Liam's house. And you look like you don't belong here. I don't know if you're the new maid or the cook, but I don't care. Get the hell out. Now." My blood ran cold. I pulled out my phone and texted my assistant. [Tell Liam to get home and handle his girlfriend. Now. Or he won't see a dime of the family money.]

My daughter Mia's congenital heart condition had worsened. She desperately needed the one-of-a-kind miniature artificial heart I'd spent five years developing. The night before surgery, my wife Victoria stole it from the cold storage unit. I rushed to the hospital like a madman, only to find her at the bedside of her first love Dominic Forsythe's son, prepping him for surgery. "Mia can hold on for another six months. Dominic's son can't wait." "What kind of father are you, being this selfish?" Victoria stood there, righteous indignation written all over her face. I looked at my daughter lying in her hospital bed, barely clinging to life, and dialed the overseas number I'd refused a dozen times before. "Professor Ellsworth, this is Nathan Hartley." "I'll accept your offer. But I need you to arrange a medical transport—immediately—to bring my daughter to your facility. Her heart needs emergency intervention." I spent five years developing a life-saving heart for my daughter. Victoria stole it overnight and gave it to Dominic Forsythe’s son. “Mia can hold on for another six months. Dominic's son can't wait.” She had no idea I held all the core patents for that heart. That same night, I took my daughter aboard a medical jet and fled the country. The next time we met, you would be on your knees begging me.

It was near the end of May when I got off my night shift and got a call from my younger self, right before the SAT. "Eight years from now, am I happy? Am I living abroad, or working at Collins Corporation? "Charlotte said I don't need the SAT. She's taking me overseas." He sounded excited, already planning to spend the next few days doing whatever he wanted. I looked down at the grease on my uniform. Behind me was a cramped factory dorm, a cramped room packed with 12 beds. "Charlotte's getting married today," I said. "But you're not the groom." He sucked in a breath. "That's impossible. She said she'd marry me." Last night, Charlotte Collins texted me. [Don't come tomorrow. You work at a factory. You'll embarrass me.] His voice caught. "Who is it? Do I know him?" I said calmly, "Open the math worksheet in your bag. Finish it, and I'll tell you who she's marrying."

The day I turned eighteen, my father picked my birthday dinner to drop his bombshell: he'd fallen for someone else, and he wanted a divorce. Mom was about to flip the table. Then a stream of comments scrolled across my vision. [Don't make a scene! He's just a cheater. We don't even want him.] [Your mom's gorgeous. Play the sweet, doting type, win him over, and she'll walk away with most of his fortune. We're talking billions!] [Take the billions and enjoy the rest of your life. Beats rotting at home as some bitter ex-wife, doesn't it?] Following the comments, I clapped a hand over Mom's mouth and whispered: "Mom, stop! Dad's worth billions, we have to watch what we say!"

I went through hell for a man I met on an underground forum. I traded my thick-rimmed glasses for laser eye surgery, wore painful wire braces for two years, and endured agonizing laser treatments for my acne. A posture coach beat a graceful walk into me with a riding crop. I clawed my way from being the Pierce family's "four-eyed ugly duckling," the girl nobody looked at twice, and became someone who turned heads. But the night before we were supposed to meet, I scrolled past a post on another dark web forum. "Selling my internet girlfriend for cheap. We're meeting soon." "Been together over a year. Sweet voice, soft personality, great emotional support. DM if interested." Someone commented to ask why he was dumping such a perfect girl. The original poster replied: "I paid a hacker to get her address and pull surveillance footage. She's some hideous hillbilly with a mouth full of metal. The sight of her made me sick." The comment section erupted in jeers: "I was going to buy her for some fun, but I lost my appetite the second I saw that picture. What an ugly country bumpkin with a mouth full of braces." "Who would want this kind of trash? She's all yours, hahaha." Scrolling to the very bottom, only one ID had replied with two words: "DM me." I tapped on the original poster's avatar and zoomed in. The black cat silhouette was identical to my online boyfriend's profile picture. The post was dated three months ago.

For an entire year, I'd been in an online relationship with a guy named Gravano. We were deep in the honeymoon phase—every night, his messages would light up my phone like clockwork, sending my pulse racing and my cheeks burning. [Thinking about you, baby.] [Had another dream about you last night. You were on top of me, begging for more.] [Promise me we'll never be apart. Okay?] I was about to suggest we finally meet in person. Then he sent me a picture—and the man in it was my boss. The most notorious playboy in the entire city. I decided to break it off, convinced he'd been playing me for a fool. But just days after I sent Gravano my breakup text, a man who looked exactly like my boss cornered me against the wall and asked, his voice low and dangerous— "Didn't we promise each other... forever?"