Plot Twists Short Stories & Mistress Face Slapping Novels

On my wife Christine Stott's birthday, I held a property certificate, hoping to surprise her. I waited until midnight, but she never showed up. Instead, I got a confession. Christine: [I'm pregnant, but the baby isn't yours. I'm sorry...] I stared at those words, reading them over and over. I worked hard for three years to buy this property. I worked overtime until I was vomiting blood, I drank myself into the hospital at business dinners, and I came home every night so exhausted that I would collapse straight into bed. And her? She wiped away all my efforts just by saying the baby was not mine. I called her. She answered quickly. "I'm sorry for what I did to you. I'll give you whatever you want." I took a deep breath and asked, "Anything I want?" "Yes." "Then let's get a divorce. You leave with nothing."

During my baby's sip-and-see, I spotted my wife kissing her crush in the nursery, even though she had once said that both the baby and I were her greatest blessings. I squashed down my anger and took several photos. During the celebration, the photographer asked me to move closer so we could take a family portrait, but I declined. "The baby isn't mine. I'm an outsider, so I won't be in the picture." While everyone stared at me in confusion, I displayed the photos of their affair on the big screen.

Three years ago, I casually created an Instagram alt account and followed my husband. On that account, we talked about everything. The weather. Our day. Work. Whatever was bothering us. We could talk for hours. But on my main account, and even in real life, we barely exchanged ten sentences in an entire year. I always thought it was just our little secret. A private game between husband and wife that neither of us needed to acknowledge out loud. And honestly, I enjoyed it. Then, just before our third wedding anniversary, a new message popped up on my second account. ‘I’m divorcing Joanna Simpson.’ ‘Jess, I want to be with you.’ That was the moment I finally realized the truth. My husband had never known that the woman behind that account... was me.

My girlfriend, Piper Wolfe, and her childhood best friend, Cole Carter, could physically feel each other's pain and sensations—or so she claimed. We were in the middle of a heavy make-out session when she suddenly shoved my shoulders, almost throwing me off the bed, and pulled out her phone to dial Cole. "Cole! It’s ten at night, why are you chugging ice-cold beer? If you don’t care about your stomach, at least think about mine!" Cole’s voice muffled through the speaker. "You don’t get to judge me! Tell your boyfriend to go easy on the kissing. My lips are burning! If you keep this up, I’m just gonna find someone else to kiss!" Piper’s chest heaved. Her voice spiked with panic. "Don't you dare!" By the time she hung up, they had made a pact: as long as she kept her hands off me, Cole promised not to hook up with random girls. She turned back to me, her eyes wide and pleading. "Finn, please. I can't stand the feeling of another girl touching and kissing me by proxy. You understand, right?" I loved Piper way too much. My stomach sank, but I gave in. As long as our love was real, a platonic relationship wouldn’t hurt me. Until I caught them together. Piper had Cole pinned against the wall, their lips locked in a deep, rough kiss that left his lips swollen. "I don't care how many boyfriends you date," Cole murmured against Piper’s skin, breathless, "You're only touching me." Piper laughed, running her fingers through his hair. "Relax. You're the only one who actually turns me on." Cole smirked, wiping his lips. "Still, out of all the guys you've dated, this current one takes the crown for idiot of the year. You told him we shared physical sensations and he actually bought it?" "Hey, don't ruin a good thing." Piper giggled. "You better make sure I don't lose him. He's way too convenient." A sharp, violent ringing filled my ears while my mind went blank. I was paralyzed by the horrific realization that my entire relationship was just a joke to them. What neither of them realized, though, was that I was the kind of guy every girl secretly craved, and starting today, I was done being played.

Five years ago, I catch my husband, Henry Lancaster, cheating on me. He's a college professor, and the other woman is his teaching assistant, Vera Ashmore. Henry begs me not to go public, saying it'll ruin her reputation. I agree, but only if she drops out of school, leaves the city, never comes back, and signs a binding agreement. Everyone around me calls me vain, saying I care more about money than feelings. And yet Henry is willing to turn on his entire family just to protect her name. Five years later, I travel to that same city on a business trip to attend a lecture and end up finding a little boy wandering by himself. I take him to the police station so he can get in touch with his family. The officer dials the number the boy recites from memory, and a familiar voice comes through the line, "Hey, it's okay, don't be scared. Daddy's coming to get you right now." Less than half an hour later, Henry, who's supposed to be teaching classes a thousand miles away, rushes through the station doors. I'm sitting on a bench when our eyes lock, and he freezes on the spot. I smile and rise to my feet. "Henry, I had no idea you had a secret son behind my back this whole time. Looks like that spotless professor image of yours isn't going to last much longer."

While working overtime late into the night, I suddenly received a video from my wife. "Honey, there's a homeless man outside our door. I'm so scared!" In the video, a disheveled man was sitting outside my house. He occasionally muttered strange, unintelligible words. I immediately got permission to leave work and drove home, but on the way back, I got into a car accident. Only after I died did I learn the truth. It was a prank that had gone viral online. The footage of the homeless man had been generated using AI. What I never expected was that my wife's male best friend had taught her how to pull it off. They had even tampered with my car's brakes in advance. Worse still, the two of them had tampered with my car's brakes beforehand. After my death, they even went live and tearfully blamed the AI prank for killing me. Countless viewers sympathized with my wife, allowing the two of them to make a fortune from the livestream. Seeing how deep my resentment ran, the Grim Reaper gave me a chance to start over. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my wife sent me that video.

At the bachelor party, someone suggests playing a game of "Of Course". Whatever we're asked, that's the answer we have to give. Rowena Jennings' childhood friend, Lucas Foster, takes the first shot at me. "You're always snooping through your girlfriend's phone, aren't you?" Before I can react, Rowena cuts in, "Of course. Why else would he keep checking on me until the wee hours of the morning?" Everyone cracks up, and her best friend turns to me next. "Do you always have to make a big deal out of nothing?" "Of course," Rowena answers for me. "How else would he make himself look unreasonable and get himself some attention?" The laughter grows louder. Her cousin, Amelia Jennings, joins in, "You get all teary-eyed over a little criticism, don't you?" "Of course. How else would he guilt me into feeling sorry for him?" Rowena replies. My palm is slick with sweat as I tighten my grip on my glass. When my turn comes, I look Rowena in the eye. "You're… pretty good at pretending to be in love, aren't you?" "Of course." She doesn't even blink. "How else would I trick you into marrying me?" The room goes quiet for a second before everyone erupts into laughter. My nails dig into my palm as I turn to Lucas. "Do you have feelings for her?" "Of course. Did you think I was into you instead?" he said. Everyone's laughing, and no one seems to think there's anything wrong with this. I force myself to hold it together as I head to the restroom. On my way back, I overhear them talking. "Forget about him. He'll put up with anything as long as he gets to marry Rowena." I turn to leave, tossing the wedding invitations into the trash. Since none of them can wish me well, there's no reason to go through with this marriage.

My daughter, Amelia Rossum, comes home with her palm pierced all the way through by a pencil. I drop my mop in a panic, hastily change out of my loungewear, and rush her to the ER. At the hospital entrance, my husband, Benedict Rossum, jumps out of his car and immediately lashes out at me. "How could you let this happen to her?" Our neighbor, Lorelei Bates, trails behind him, holding her daughter's hand. She addresses him gently, "Benedict, don't be so hard on Clarissa. Everyone makes mistakes." He scoffs. "Other mothers can keep their kids safe perfectly fine. What's her excuse? I bet she did this on purpose to guilt me into coming home early!" Amelia recoils and hides behind me. Seeing her reaction, Benedict crouches down and immediately softens his voice. "Don't be scared, Amelia. I'm right here. You can tell me what happened. I'll make it right." "Really?" She steals anxious glances at me. I shake my head, silently telling her not to say anything. With Lorelei standing right there, we don't stand a chance. She always finds a way to twist the truth against us. Benedict shoves me aside and picks Amelia up. "Clarissa, are you trying to scare her into keeping quiet? What kind of mother are you? What, did you stab her hand on purpose, too?" "No, it wasn't Mommy!" Amelia bursts into sobs. Benedict gently pats her back, his eyes reddening with distress. "It must hurt a lot, doesn't it, Amelia? Tell me what happened to your hand." She's sobbing so hard that she can barely catch her breath. After a long while, she finally points at Lorelei's daughter and says in between sobs, "Penelope and her friends stabbed me."

I return home from studying abroad and find a new future sister-in-law waiting for me. Sandra Zimmer acts like she's already the lady of the house and the Slater family's daughter-in-law. She even vows to put me, her sister-in-law-to-be, whom she's never met, in my place. But no one tells her that my older brother, Wallace Slater, is adopted. I'm the Slater family's only heir, and even Wallace has to answer to me.

In our third year of marriage, my wife's kept boy toy decided he wanted to break up with her. He left her nothing but a long, dramatic message and blocked her on every platform before she could respond. [You can't give me what I actually want. I don't want to keep dragging this out with you.] I watched my wife's romantic drama play out with a cold, distant expression. After three years of them breaking up and getting back together more times than I could count, I figured this was nothing new. I expected Elena Sheridan to rush straight to coax him back like always. But this time, she was ice cold about it. "He was just a plaything I kept around for amusement. Now he thinks he can threaten me with a breakup? I’ve clearly indulged him too much." But a month later, the news broke online. He'd jumped from a building. The woman who had always been cold and unfeeling completely fell apart.

After losing his entire retirement savings to a scam, my father-in-law, Kyle Knight, tried to kill himself by overdosing on pills. I frantically called my husband, Joshua Knight, a psychology expert, hoping he could talk his father out of it. "Dad lost his entire retirement fund to a scam. He left a suicide note, and he's trying to kill himself. Come home!" Instead, Joshua snapped at me for making such a big deal out of it. "Your dad's made plenty of bad decisions before. Maybe this'll finally teach him a lesson. Don't bother me with stupid stuff like this again. I'm trying to watch a movie with Vanessa." For a second, I thought he hadn't heard me clearly. I was about to tell him that the man dying was his own father. Then Vanessa Morgan's voice came through the phone. The horror movie scared her. Joshua immediately turned to comfort her. Later, he casually told me to put together a PowerPoint on how my dad got scammed so he could use the case in one of his anti-scam livestreams. I swallowed everything I was about to say and obediently said, "Okay." After all, the person who scammed Kyle out of his retirement savings and drove him to suicide was Vanessa's mother.

I used to be a renowned reporter at the height of my career, but I gave it up to become a stay-at-home dad so I could support my wife, Sarah, in her rising career as a news anchor. Things went downhill fast after our daughter was born. Sarah constantly forgot to pick up formula and neglected our baby, and I kept finding evidence of her ongoing affair with her colleague, Mark. When I went back to the station to apply for my old job, Mark went out of his way to humiliate me. Even when our daughter ended up in the emergency room, Mark did everything he could to make things difficult for us. That was the last straw, and I decided to strike back. During a live broadcast, I exposed their affair to the public with irrefutable evidence. I tendered my resignation to the news director on the spot and immediately took a job at a rival network to start fresh. My new show focused on helping people who had gone through similar betrayals, and my career took off once again. Out of nowhere, Sarah's mother reached out to tell me that Sarah was critically ill. I went to the hospital to visit her, where a tearful Sarah expressed regret for everything she had done. I thought that chapter of my life was finally closed for good, but not long after, I heard a piece of news that turned everything upside down…

At a major press conference, my husband, Julian Winslow, is about to publicly introduce me as the love of his life when his young assistant suddenly walks onto the stage carrying a girl. "Go on, sweetheart. Daddy's calling for you." The room erupts. Reporters start firing questions about Julian's relationship with his assistant, but instead of correcting them, Julian simply takes the little girl into his arms and fastens the company's multimillion-dollar new necklace around her neck. "Yes," he says. "We have a daughter." As I stand silently in the crowd, the reporters turn their attention to me. "Ms. Aldridge, you've been with Mr. Winslow and the company for years. Surely you have something to say on such a special occasion?" I smile. Then I take the designs I spent an entire year perfecting and toss them straight into the assistant's hands. "You can have the designs too. Consider them my gift to your happy little family."

During my wedding, someone suggests that we play the game "one dollar and 50 cents". The host will call out an amount that the players will have to match by forming groups. I draw the 50-cent straw, and so does my best friend, Rebecca Cross, who is also the group favorite. My fiance, Ian Chilton, his childhood friend, Richard Price, his older sister, Anne Chilton, and my stepsister, Chelsea Whitmore, all draw one-dollar straws. For the first round, we need to make up a total of 1.50 dollars. I make a beeline toward Ian, but he gazes distractedly at Rebecca. It isn't until he is assured that she won't be eliminated that he finally loosens his painfully tight grip on my hand. Before I can truly feel my disappointment, the second round begins. This time, we need to make up a total of five dollars. Everyone instinctively surges toward Rebecca. I don't pester Ian this time, and he naturally fails to notice that I've been left out. It isn't until the host reminds them that they're 50 cents short that they reluctantly let me into their group. For the third round, we need to make up 2.50 dollars. It's clear that the six of us can conveniently form two groups of said amount, yet they debate heatedly over who gets to be in the group with Rebecca. As time is running out, Richard and Chelsea finally walk reluctantly toward me, having lost in a game of rock-paper-scissors. In the final round, we need to make up 4.50 dollars. As soon as the whistle is blown, they crowd together merrily. Ian even considerately wraps his arm around Rebecca's shoulders out of fear that she'll be jostled. Meanwhile, I'm knocked to the floor by the crowd, my palms digging deeply into splinters sticking out of the wooden floor paneling. From start to finish, nobody spares me a glance. In that instant, everything feels pointless to me. When we played hide-and-seek as children, they only realized I hadn't been "found" after nightfall. When we visited the amusement park as adults, they would always forget to buy my ticket. All things considered, it simply isn't polite to keep trying to fit into a small group that doesn't have room for me.

It's our fifth year together, and I accompany my fiance, Theo Montague, to see the aurora he has always yearned to see. Fortune favors us that night as vivid green lights stretch across the snow-covered plain. He wraps his arms around me from behind and suddenly murmurs, "It's beautiful. Too bad we're still one step short of perfect." I freeze for a moment and ask him what we're missing. He doesn't answer, and I don't press him, either. After all, I've heard this phrase far too many times. When I go to great lengths to get him the out-of-print book he has his sights on for ages, he sighs. "We're still one step short of perfect." When we move into our beautifully furnished house and finally have a place of our own in Northshire, he laments, "We're still a step short." Even when he becomes a professor, our wedding's set, and everyone envies us for having it all, he still tells me, "This is wonderful, but it's still one step short of perfect." I've heard it so often that I assume he's simply harder to please than most people. The "one step short" he always speaks of seems nothing more than the small imperfection a perfectionist can never let go of. Everything changes when his most prized former student returns from abroad. For the first time ever, the man who rarely posts on social media shares a photo of himself picking her up at the airport. The woman standing next to him looks eerily like me, sharing at least 70% of my features. The caption reads, "My life's complete now that I've reunited with an old friend." That's when it hits me—the one thing he's missing is a person. I'm merely someone he settles for because I happen to look 70% like her. Since I'm only 70% similar to the woman he truly wants, how can I possibly give him the perfect life he longs for?

With a knife in hand, Olivia Gerber catches Caleb Jebb in bed with another woman for the ninth time, only to discover that the woman is none other than her younger sister, Shannon Gerber. The usually aloof Caleb suddenly grabs the knife and drives it deep into his own abdomen. "Don't hurt Shannon." Caleb stares at Olivia with bloodshot eyes, his voice unexpectedly shaking. "You can get back at me however you want. I'll accept it. Are you happy now?" Olivia freezes on the spot, her fingertips numb from the warmth of his blood. The next moment, Gerald Gerber, her father, hurries over and slaps her across the face. He launches into a furious tirade. "Olivia, have you lost your mind? All Shannon did was come between you and your husband. What's the big deal? Did you really have to come here and embarrass her?" Vivian Ingham, her mother, points at her and tells her off. "You've been married to Caleb for five years, yet you still haven't given him a child. So many women have tried to take your place as his wife. "Your sister's willing to help you out. Don't you know how lucky you are? And instead of thanking her, you choose to get back at her?" At that moment, Olivia finds the whole situation completely absurd. Caleb has spent years fighting with her, yet he is willing to compromise for Shannon. Gerald and Vivian have known all along that Shannon is a homewrecker, yet they keep enabling her behavior. Ever since Olivia and Shannon were kids, their parents have always favored Shannon. No matter what she does, they always forgive her. And Olivia? All she ever gets is endless criticism. If that's how it is, Olivia is done with her rotten marriage and family.

On Sunday night, I had already changed into a dress and was about to take a wedding anniversary cake to my husband at the hospital. I had just picked up my car keys when several lines of text suddenly floated into view. [Don't go.] [The moment you step into Avermont Medical Center, tonight's surgery - the one where Elise Parker's patient dies - will be recorded with you as the primary surgeon.] [Grant Holloway will use your EHR e-signature credentials, alter the surgical schedule, and add false entries to the chart so you take the fall for her.] [Three days later, the patient's family will livestream outside the hospital demanding answers, and the internet will brand you a heartless doctor.] [In the end, the patient's brother will attack you with a knife.] I froze in the entryway. A second later, Grant called. "Jessica, are you at the hospital yet? Swing by Medical Affairs when you get here. I need you to sign off on something."

When I'm 14, my father beats me until my ears ring. It's my brother, Gideon West, and Kate Calloway who step in front of me, shielding me with a knife in hand. When I turn 18, the two of them fight their way into the legal world, all so they can put my father behind bars and take me away from him. At 21, on my wedding day, Gideon forces Kate to swear an oath in front of me. "You will never betray my brother. If you do, I'll make sure you leave the marriage with nothing. And if that isn't enough, I'll kill you myself." For the next eight years, Kate becomes the model wife everyone admires. She never fools around. She never comes home late. Even her phone password is always my birthday. Our daughter, Sadie West, used to say that she loves me more than anyone in this world. On the day Sadie turns seven, she makes a birthday wish with her eyes squeezed shut. "I wish Mommy would stop going to her other home. Every time Daddy falls asleep, she sneaks out. I don't want to lie for her anymore." I assume Sadie is just joking. "Who lives at Mommy's other home?" I ask, crouching down beside her. Sadie slips behind me and points into the distance. I follow her gaze, and the cake knife slips from my hand and clatters to the floor. Standing there is the person I trust most in the world—Gideon. But beneath the table, I can clearly see his hand intertwined with Kate's, their fingers tightly laced together.

In the afternoon, I mysteriously receive a text message from myself seven years in the future. Thinking it's some kind of new scam, I don't even bother reading it before replying, "Get lost, scammer!" However, the sender sends a photo of an empty bottle of sleeping pills and replies, "I'm not a scammer, but I really am dying. Break up with Crystal. Today will be the first day she cheats on you. "Her first true love just returned from abroad today. His name is Reuben Knight." I'm stunned. I'm about to make fun of the scammer for lying so blatantly to me because I clearly know that I am Crystal Harper's first love. At that moment, the door behind me opens. Crystal then strides in with a man behind her. She introduces me to him and says, "Hey, Daniel, I'd like you to meet a friend. This is Reuben Knight, and he's like a brother to me. He just returned from abroad today."

Because of my fragile health, my best friend, Eva, kept me on a tight leash growing up. She always told me, "Leah, you can't take risks." So for every date David and I planned, she had to test it out for me first. When the new roller coaster opened at the amusement park and she said it was too intense for my heart, David took her instead. After I booked a bed-and-breakfast by the ocean, Eva said the night breeze was too strong for me. So David spent the night there with her. I made reservations at a romantic couple's restaurant, only for her to say the menu might trigger an allergic reaction. That was why David took her to try it first. Every time they came back, Eva would look me in the eye and say, "That place just isn't right for you." And David would always nod along. "She’s only looking out for you." I believed them every time until the night before our fifth anniversary, when I saw Eva’s latest post on social media. She was wearing the white dress I had spent weeks picking out, sitting at the table by the window I had reserved. There sat the custom cake I had ordered for David. Her caption read: [Tested it out for her first! Completely safe and so magical.] Right below it, David had commented: [You're the best, Eva.] Looking at the screen, it hit me all at once. This twisted game of stepping over boundaries under the guise of "testing things out" had finally run its course.