Male POV Face Slapping の短編小説 & 小説

My girlfriend never felt safe with me. She was always testing whether I'd leave her. We were together five years. In that time, she ran three hundred tests. A month into the relationship, she called me drunk and said a man was harassing her at a bar. When I got there, I found a man holding her down, kissing her. A year and a half in, I was about to pay for my mother's surgery and found every dollar gone from my account. After I'd scrambled and borrowed and finally covered it, my girlfriend texted me, laughing: "Congratulations. You passed." It wasn't until our wedding day, when she walked in holding another man's hand, that something in me finally died.

At our wedding, my wife finally appeared. But instead of a wedding dress, she arrived dressed entirely in mourning clothes, a black mourning veil covering her face. The entire venue erupted in shock. Some guests openly reveled in my humiliation, while others sneered and mocked me. I suppressed a level of anger I had never felt before and confronted her. "What's this supposed to mean? Do you really have to humiliate me on the most important day of our lives?" Instead of showing any remorse, she screamed back, "It's only been seven days since Grant died! I grew up with him. Am I not allowed to mourn him still? If you don't want to go through with this wedding, then don't! No one's forcing you!" I stared at her in silence. Then I slowly removed my wedding ring. Without another word, I tossed it onto the floor. Fine. Let this be their funeral wedding.

At the beginning of a new year, I stay at the hospital to take care of my mother-in-law on my own. My wife, Yelena Lipton, on the other hand, is on a vacation with her first love, Phillip Warren, in a tropical island overseas. Funnily enough, I'm the last one who finds out about her impending marriage with Phillip. When my mother-in-law hears about the news, her condition deteriorates to the point she gets sent into the treatment room immediately. I have to call Yelena over a dozen times for her to finally pick up the call. "Do you have a death wish or something? Why did you bombard me with calls? I'm in the middle of something right now, so leave me alone!" After that, Yelena ends the call. Since then, I keep failing to get in contact with her. During that time, my mother-in-law has passed away from the treatment failure. When I'm done organizing the funeral, I send Yelena a divorce agreement right away. "Have you gone nuts? It's just an announcement to cheer Phillip up! Are you seriously going to file a divorce from me?" After hearing Yelena's accusations, I reply calmly, "Mom's dead. I've already dealt with everything concerning her passing. You should come back and visit her grave."

I've gotten into an accident three days before my SAT exam. As a result, my right leg is completely busted. As Selena Surrey stands before my hospital bed, she suddenly reveals the truth. "I'm the one who arranged the accident." She points at my broken leg, which is still sealed in a cast. A cruel smile blossoms on her face. "It's your fault for displeasing Aaron. You only broke one leg anyway. It's way better than watching Aaron continue to waste away in depression." I widen my eyes in disbelief. As I struggle against Selena, I leave fresh scratches on her arms. But Selena just pushes me away coldly, only to pat me on the head gently as she did in the past. "I think I understand how your parents feel now. No wonder they insisted on sending you to the orphanage back then. It's true that you aren't as likeable as Aaron." Aaron Lindt is my biological older brother. 15 years ago, I had gotten hurt just to save him from getting hit by a car. But he cried to our parents, claiming that I was the one who had pushed him. Our parents were quick to send me to an orphanage, completely disregarding my injuries. Just as I thought it was over for me, Selena showed up and promised me that she'd be the person I could rely on for the rest of my life. But now, she decides to ruin me with her own hands for the sake of the same person she has promised to protect me from.

A note under my daughter's pillow reads, "This is our little secret. Don't tell your dad." I hold the note in my hand, and the tips of my fingers turn cold. My buddy, Liam Lywood, is my childhood friend. He always wears my old T-shirts and frequently stays at my house. My wife, Gina Stroud, often praises him. "Now this feels like a real home." Yet my five-year-old daughter, Trixie Glasby, now looks at me like I'm a stranger. It turns out, the man I treat as a brother is sleeping with my wife. And the daughter I cherish has already been brainwashed by those two shameless people into turning against me! When I slap the note down in front of Gina, she snaps instead, "What are you imagining now? Liam takes better care of Trixie than you do!" I smile. Apparently, they've forgotten who really owns this house.

I was a genius with an IQ of 180. Even so, I had always kept a low profile. Standing out just made me a target, so I never did. I was good at math, physics, chemistry, biology, astronomy, programming, quantum entanglement, and computer science. I spoke twenty-seven languages. I had mastered everything. When it came time for the SATs, I controlled my score precisely. I finished exactly ten points above the cutoff for an elite university. By “sheer luck,” I snagged the last spot. My classmates were all top students from every corner of the country. All of them looked down on me. They called me the “waitlist wonder,” the “lucky leftover,” and the “bare minimum.” I just smiled and never took their words to heart. That was until the top student in my class, Victor Holloway, announced, “Some people here don’t deserve to be in this class! “I propose that we cut the weakest link after this exam. “I dare whoever comes last to drop out voluntarily.” I was provoked by his words. Was he talking about me? Fine. It was time for me to stop holding back.

My girlfriend, Selena Jenkins, and I are committed to a strict 50-50 relationship. We are three years into our relationship, and we split everything down to a single bottle of water. Then, out of nowhere, I get a call from a kidnapper. "We have your girlfriend. Have 150 thousand dollars ready, or she dies!" I calmly launch our app, SplitMate. According to the algorithm, this unexpected incident falls under "shared risk", meaning she is responsible for 50% of the cost. However, after factoring in the personal insurance policy I took out on her behalf, she only needs to pay 35,550 dollars. I send the calculation results to the kidnapper. "This is her share. Please contact her family for the payment. I'm only responsible for my own portion." The line goes silent. A few minutes later, I receive a livestream link. The livestream shows Selena tied to a chair, smiling at her phone. The live chat in front of her is blowing up. "Holy shit! This guy's a monster. This is the craziest livestream I've seen all year!" Later on, she follows the 50-50 rule to a T, but I'm no longer on board with it.

Three days before Thanksgiving, our admin manager, Simon Brant, handed me an envelope containing 100 dollars in cash. On the front, he'd written, "Thanksgiving Employee Gift Budget." A few minutes later, he posted a message in the company-wide group chat. "I've given Leo Timbrell from Admin the Thanksgiving gift budget. If anyone has any special requests, please direct them to him." In my previous life, I took that 100 dollars and spent days hunting for deals to make Thanksgiving gift baskets for over 200 employees. When I went over budget, I even chipped in another 600 dollars from my own savings to make sure everyone got something good. Unfortunately, none of that mattered after the gifts were given out because everyone started complaining instead of thanking me. "Seriously? This is all we get?" "Wow, the company's really cheaping out this year." "I bet someone in Admin pocketed the rest of the money." I tried to explain that Simon had only given me 100 dollars. However, he stepped forward before anyone could listen, exclaiming in disbelief, "What? I gave you 10 grand!" And just like that, everyone believed I'd stolen the money. I'd spent thousands of my own money trying to do something kind for my coworkers, only to be called a thief. The company sued me. Nobody believed a word I said, no matter how hard I tried to prove my innocence. I ended up in prison, where I was bullied and eventually beaten to death. And the worst part? Simon and his wife laughed about it behind my back. "That 10 grand covered a nice chunk of our mortgage," his wife tittered. Simon laughed. "It's not my fault the idiot was dumb enough to accept the cash." Now that I was given a second chance, I wasn't going to make the same mistake again. As soon as Simon gave me the envelope, I took photos of the cash, the envelope, and his handwriting. Then, I posted the pictures in the company-wide group chat and tagged everyone before he could slander me. "Mr. Brant, I just want to let you know that I've received the Thanksgiving employee gift budget. The total amount is 100 dollars in cash." Then, I sent one more message right after that. "We've got 235 employees this year. Does anyone have any special requests for their Thanksgiving gifts this year?"

The side character, Derek Holloway, poured his heart and soul into every single year of high school. When the moment came to earn a place in the honors program, his childhood best friend, Vivian Sterling, handed the golden ticket straight to Blake Mercer, the male lead. Vivian's voice sounded flat, completely unbothered. "I've really thought this through. If we're in the same class, we'll just distract each other from studying. "Besides, Blake's family is struggling financially. He needs this opportunity way more than you do. Just step aside for him, okay?" I watched Derek step aside for Blake. One hundred and one times. I watched him go home and suffer a brutal beating from both his parents for losing that honors spot. One hundred and one times. I watched him lose his mind while the girl he'd loved since childhood paraded around town with another guy. One hundred and one times. I watched his grades plummet into the gutter, destroying any shot at admission to an Ivy League school. One hundred and one times. I watched him get framed for cheating on SAT, which drove him to jump from the thirty-sixth floor. One hundred and one times. Then I took complete control of his body. Vivian had no idea who she was dealing with. I came from an era torn apart by war and gunfire. I didn't give a damn about petty teenage romance. Anything worth taking, anything worth fighting for, I would fight for and claim every last one.

During college, Cindy Crammer brought over two sets of breakfasts every day. One was for me, and the other was for my roommate and best friend, Mark Jefferson. The breakfast she brought me never changed. It was always just sandwiches and oatmeal. Mark's breakfast, on the other hand, always had a perfect balance of meat and vegetables, and she never repeated the same meal twice. Even for my birthday, the gifts she prepared came in two sets. My birthday gift was always four simple greeting cards. Mark got concert tickets, a handmade rhinestone photo mosaic, a custom-made suit, and a pinky ring. When it came time for our graduation trip, the three of us arrived at the train station together. Mark and Cindy scanned their documents and passed through without any trouble, but I was stopped outside. Cindy slapped her forehead in frustration and smiled at me apologetically. "I only remembered to book Mark's ticket. I forgot yours. "We've already made it through. I don't want to waste the money. I'll take you on a trip for two next time." Mark patted his chest and made a promise to me. "Don't worry, Jason. I'll take good care of Cindy for you." I watched their backs as they walked away side by side, laughing and chatting. I let out a bitter chuckle. I didn't want to keep lying to myself anymore. I turned around and bought a ticket home. "Dad, you said I had to get married right after graduation. I agree! "Remember the referral I made for an intern named Cindy? Cancel it!"

I poured my heart and soul into securing a big deal for my wife's law firm. But when I stepped out for a quick coffee break, she fired me on the spot, claiming I'd gone AWOL for too long. "New company rule: ten minutes away from your desk, and you're out. You were gone for ten minutes and five seconds. Now grab your stuff and leave." I sneered and flipped the script, turning over proof of her siphoning funds to buy her intern boy a Maybach to the police. She thought she could burn bridges with me, but this bridge didn't crumble so easily.

I'm the most obedient child in the village. Since I've failed to keep an eye on my younger brother, which has resulted in him suffering from a fall, my adoptive mother, Patricia Henson, breaks my left lower leg bone with an iron poker. "You useless bastard! Why can't you just die already? I was the one who saved your life, so you should pay me back with that life of yours!" As I look up at Patricia, I nod quietly. "Okay, Mom." Then, I turn around to grab the bottle of rat poison that's sitting on the kitchen counter. After unscrewing the cap, I begin chugging down the chemicals. Patricia is shocked out of her mind by my antics. Her screams fill the kitchen as she lunges at me just to knock the bottle out of my hands. But I've already taken a huge gulp of the poison by then. I end up getting sent to the hospital, where the doctors spend the next few days saving my life. Due to the severity of this incident, it's reported on the news, allowing my biological parents to track me down. Later on, they take me back to my actual home, which is a luxurious manor. But my older brother, Dominic Richmond, calls me filthy and wants me to cleanse myself properly. So, I grab a steel scourer and begin scrubbing my entire body with it. It doesn't take long before I'm completely drenched in my own blood. Some time later, Derek Richmond, my adopted younger brother whom everyone sings praises about, calls me disgusting with tears streaming down his cheeks. He also claims that he doesn't want to see me at all. Dominic points at the balcony while yelling at me, "Can't you just die already?" As I look at him, I just smile serenely. "Okay, Dominic." After that, I jump off the balcony. At that moment, I hear Dominic's hysterical screams.

During her last interview before retiring, my mother, Dr. Maggie Roberts, was asked about the one patient she could never forget after many years as one of the state's top doctors. "There is someone." She went quiet for a moment, then let out a long sigh. "My son. He graduated from one of the best medical schools in the country, but he insisted on being with a girl who was not good enough for him. I thought I was doing what was best for his future. So when I found out they were planning to meet in secret, I locked him inside the house that night and made sure they never saw each other again." Her voice shook as she continued, "But what I never imagined was that the same girl would eventually finish medical school. Today, she's the youngest oncologist at Summerfield General Hospital." The entire studio fell silent. Feeling there was more to the story, the host asked, "If you could go back in time, would you still choose to keep them apart?" My mother went still. Tears filled her eyes, but for a long moment, she couldn't bring herself to speak. At last, she whispered, "There's no point asking that anymore. My son died of stomach cancer three years ago." Within hours, the interview had made headlines and spread across social media, attracting thousands of viewers. But Nicole Menton, the woman at the center of it all, had no idea what was happening. She had just finished a surgery on a stomach cancer patient and was on her way to meet her husband, Sean Robinson.

A fire broke out in a high-rise apartment building, and as a firefighter, I was among the first on the scene. I was about to set up the rescue air cushion when the captain stopped me. "Don't lay it out yet. Wait." I was frantic. "Captain, if we wait any longer, it'll be too late!" He pointed at a balcony on the building next door, where an influencer had her phone set up and was livestreaming. "Don't you see her? That's Director Colter Prescott's niece shooting a video. The smoke's too thick. If we charge in now, we'll ruin her shot." I thought I'd misheard him, but what he said next turned my blood to ice. "Besides, the people trapped in there are your ex-girlfriend and her family, right? The one who dumped you for money?" He patted my shoulder. "This fire can burn away your past. How perfect is that?" With that, he actually gave the order to shut off the main water valve. What he didn't know was that the woman trapped inside wasn't just anybody. She was Director Prescott's daughter.

I had been dating Lily Foster for three years, and she strictly insisted on splitting every expense. When my mother needed surgery and I was short twenty thousand dollars, she looked troubled. “Aaron, we agreed on financial independence.” I went everywhere trying to borrow money, while she turned around and bought her brother a Ferrari outright. When I confronted her, she answered without a hint of guilt. “That’s my money. What does it have to do with you? “And besides, you’re a man. You can’t always expect a woman to support you, right?” Her brother drove the sports car right up in front of me, showing off. “My sister said it herself—your money is her money, but her money is still hers.” I laughed. Because just a moment ago, I had activated the “Malice Cashback” system. For every trace of hostility someone directed at me, I would receive a hundredfold cash return. Lily stood in front of me, frowning in disgust. “What are you laughing at? You look like an idiot.” [Ding! Received 20 hostility points from Lily Foster. Cashback of $2,000 has been credited.]

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.

After returning to my in-laws' home for Christmas Eve dinner with my wife, Winona Zachary, only my mother-in-law, Jenny Stroll, was busy while the others were all on their phones. I had just sat down when Jenny started cursing, "They just sit there and wait to eat. They didn't even offer to help. Are they trying to exhaust me?" She would even slam the pots and pans from time to time. "How heartless for young people to let an elderly person like me serve them!" I felt a bit restless and nudged Winona. "Maybe you should go help her?" Jenny's insults escalated after hearing that. Remembering it was my first time spending Christmas at my in-laws' house and not wanting things to get too ugly, I got up to help. However, Jenny dumped everything on me as soon as I entered the kitchen. Suppressing my anger, I finished cooking dinner, served it, and got ready to eat. Jenny suddenly spoke up. "Wait, we need to settle some accounts before we eat."

I'm the unluckiest real heir to the Hoffman family. I have been reborn 99 times now, and each time, it's on the exact same day—the day I'm brought home for the first time and immediately sent away by a single question from the fake heir, Dexter Hoffman. "Whom do you love more, Dante? Mom or Dad?" "If Desiree and I both fall into the water at the same time, who will you save first, Dante?" No matter what my answer is, my whole family will think it's wrong and judge me as a horrible, malicious person. And then, I will die under mysterious circumstances. When I'm reborn for the 100th time, I decide to give up on giving any real answers and just slack off. Dexter stands next to Mom and Dad and asks me the same question again with a smile on his face. However, I remain standing in place and say nothing in response. Dexter flies into a rage. "Are you deaf or mute, Dante Hoffman? Why aren't you saying anything?" I happily bring out my handy notebook and write, "Are you welcoming me home, Dexter? I'm sorry, but I'm deaf and mute, and I can't hear your beautiful voice. "I'm so happy and touched. You're the first person who doesn't despise me." I even draw a crying face at the end. Dexter is shocked. Even Mom, Dad, and my elder sister, Desiree Hoffman, are utterly confused.

I worked as a security guard at an upscale condo complex. One night, during my shift, I helped a drunk resident to the elevator. The next day, she went live with red-rimmed eyes and accused me of groping her. Within three hours, people tracked down my personal information and plastered it all over the internet. When Dad heard about it back in my hometown, he was so distraught that he suffered a stroke. He was rushed to the nearest hospital, but he didn't make it. I posted the security footage online to prove my innocence. The most-liked comment read, [Management edited this, right? Who knows what you did to her afterward?] I went to confront her, but as I crossed the street, a dump truck ran a red light and sent me flying. Just before I lost consciousness, a private message came through from her social media manager. [Crystal says she'll take down the video if you admit what you did and pay her compensation.] When I opened my eyes again, I was standing at the desk in the complex's gatehouse. It was one a.m., and the influencer wasn't home yet. She had accused me of groping her when all I did was help her. This time, I wouldn't lay a finger on her.

I am the long-lost true heir of the Kensington family. In just the second month after reconciling with the Kensington family, I solved a technical problem that the Kensington Corp's Military Research Institute had failed to crack for five whole years. Yet, my adoptive brother, Sean Kensington, the fake heir, exchanged my patent bonus worth millions for a 20-percent-off coupon for a cup of latte. I went to my older sister, Sonya, the CEO, but she simply waved her hand dismissively, completely unconcerned. "Enough, Wesley. Sean just did it for your own good. If you're holding onto that much money, what if some organization set their eyes on you? This way, your safety is protected. "Besides, you've only come to the city not long ago. I doubt you've ever had something like a latte before. Take it as a chance to experience it. I'll even give you another ten dollars. You can buy yourself another cup." I looked at the condescension in her eyes, planning to send the recording to our parents. Yet, I saw on their social media that they had just bought a seaside mansion and a luxury car as a celebration gift for Sean's achievements. Then, I glanced at the coupon they had just sent me. [You did help Sean after all. Your father and I bought you a cake as a reward. Go pick it up yourself.] I checked the price. After discount, it was a mere 13 bucks. They had to be kidding me. I directly dialed the number of Kensington Corp's rival company, Jet Group. "I think the exclusive patent for this new missile should be yours. From now on, all my research results will only be shared with Jet Group."