Contos de Romance sobre Feel-Good Story e Romances com Hypocrisy e Face Slapping

Married in secret for five years, Yvonne Singer always thought I was just a washed-up nobody from a fallen family. What she didn't know was that I was the sole successor to Guzman Group, the world's largest venture capital firm. She tricked me into attending a cocktail party for the sake of her male best friend, Francis Yorke, and forced me to toast my sworn rival. Furious, I shattered the wineglass in my hand and snapped, "Yvonne, don't push me! Believe it or not, with a single word from me, your company can disappear from the stock market by tomorrow!" Panic flickered in her eyes. The next second, she threw herself into my arms. "Honey, I just needed your help. I didn't mean to hurt you." She then personally fed me a hangover pill and gently escorted me to a private room. When I woke up, I was hanging upside down from a drop tower. Francis slammed the switch. I was sent flying dozens of feet into the air, then plummeting straight down into the water. As my consciousness began to waver, I forced myself to make an emergency call. "Mr. Chance, contact global media outlets. Before nightfall, I want headlines showing them begging on the streets!"

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 was in the parking garage of my Beverly Hills high-rise. And I backed my car into my neighbor's Ferrari. On purpose. I got out, a half-empty bottle of tequila in my hand, right in front of her. "Are you blind? Do you know how much this car costs? Can you even afford to fix it?" She was furious, her face turning red as she whipped out her phone to call 911. I just smirked. "You should probably call them. Get the LAPD down here to arrest me. I'll wait." The first time around, I was the fall guy for my fiancé, Grant, and his sister, Blair. They got high at some Hollywood party, went joyriding, and killed an innocent valet. But the car was my Porsche. And they swore I was the one driving. I rotted in a California state prison for ten years. The shock killed my mom. A heart attack. When I got out, they weren't done. They forged offshore debts to drain my trust fund and drove me to suicide. I woke up 24 hours before it all happened again.

My girlfriend had spent three years chasing the one who got away. The night before our wedding, the two of them trashed her bride's dress together. I wanted to call it off. She just laughed it off. "I only wanted to make sure I wouldn't regret my youth. From now on I'm all yours, so can't you be a little generous about it?" So I turned around and prepared a grand gift for them instead, wishing them a lifetime of happiness. Later, she came back crying, begging me to forgive her. I held up my hand and let my wedding ring catch the light. "Sorry. I'm married."

My mother-in-law, Kate Irwin, has a hood over her head and a time bomb strapped to her body. Ten seconds are left. My husband, Sean Quimby, could have saved his mother. As Efton's top bomb disposal expert, Sean could cut the right wire without breaking a sweat. Instead, he hands the wire cutters—the tool that will decide whether Kate lives or dies—to his sobbing intern, Yara Gibson. I watch as Yara cuts the wrong wire. The timer hits zero. A wall of flames engulfs Kate. The blast wave slams into me, but Sean's first instinct is to pull Yara into his arms. He even turns his back to shield her from the flying debris, gently soothing her. "Don't be afraid. I'm here." He doesn't even spare a glance at the charred remains behind him. Only after calming Yara does he finally turn to me. He sheds a few tears and says, "Wendy, I'm sorry. I couldn't save Dahlia." My mother, Dahlia Green, is overseas, enjoying the sun and beach. She sent me a photo just moments ago. So I put on a sympathetic face and comfort him, "It's okay." After all, my mother isn't the one who died.

When I got reborn into my youthful years, I turned down the marriage proposal of Seth Klein, the future major general. Instead, I chose to be with Nathan Prescott, who lived a poor life. My mother thought I was possessed. After all, the entire village knew that I, the village chief's daughter, used to follow the well-educated Mr. Klein around all the time. Apparently, I was willing to do anything just to marry him. I soon recalled what happened in my previous life. After I married Seth, we never consummated our marriage. He even brought back a child, claiming that said child belonged to a fellow soldier who had passed on in the war. I viewed the child as my own and made an effort to raise him. It wasn't until our fiftieth anniversary that I discovered a secret after barging into Seth's study, which had always been forbidden to me. It turned out that the study was plastered with photos of my older cousin, Catherine Parker—the most beautiful woman in the village. The thing was, she had been dead for a long time. The truth was, Seth has always been capable of performing in bed. He was merely practicing abstinence because of Catherine. Furious, I collapsed and was admitted to the hospital. But my son, whom I treated as my own, was the one who unplugged my life support with his own hands. "If it weren't for you taking over my mom's position as the actual wife, she wouldn't have died as an unknown mistress!" After my death, I witnessed Seth getting a joint burial with Catherine as husband and wife. As for my ashes, they were randomly scattered into a dried-up river. Now that I was reborn, I chose to fulfill their wish!

I get back from a six‑month business trip right before Valentine's Day and go to pick out a watch for my wife, Natalie Smith. The sales associate jokes, "Mr. Fuller, you and Ms. Smith really are in sync. She was here yesterday and bought a matching set of this exact model, saying they were for Valentine's Day." I freeze. Then I suddenly remember that her assistant, Tyler Chadwick, posted a picture of the exact same watch on social media last night, along with a smug caption. "She says my time belongs to her from now on." I immediately call Natalie, but a man's voice answers instead. "Hello? Who is this? Why are you calling so late? Ms. Smith is in the shower. Call back tomorrow." I let out a cold laugh. "Who am I? I'm your boss! Tell her you're both fired. Neither of you needs to show up at the office tomorrow!"

I went to pick up my older brother who was out at a gathering. That was when I overheard him ask Nathan, "Haven't you been dating someone? It's been so long, and I still haven't met her." I suddenly tensed up. Nathan and I had been together for three years, but we had always kept it a secret, so no one knew. Nathan replied lazily, "She's not my girlfriend, just a pastime. It's not like I plan to marry her." I clenched my fists and pushed the door open without hesitation.

On my wedding day, Ethan Westbrook's ex-girlfriend sent word that she was terminally ill. Her dying wish was to wear a wedding dress once in her life. Ethan locked me in the waiting room while he prepared to hold the ceremony with her instead of me to fulfill this wish. I heard his impatient voice through the door as he said to me, "Can't you show some compassion? She's dying. What's wrong with granting her one final wish?" Later, the guy next door who had carried a torch for me for years climbed to the rooftop and begged me to marry him. Ethan stared at me with bloodshot eyes. "Are you really going to throw away our seven-year relationship just for him?" I brushed his hand away. "Should I just let him die? It's only a marriage certificate. Where's your compassion now?"

I've been Carl Grant's trophy wife for three years, and I have nothing going for me aside from my looks. Even his younger sister Quinn would complain, saying that I won't survive three days away from the Grants. I'm not bothered. I used to be the Managing Director of the Assembly of the Global Financial Order (AGFO). After a lifetime of hard work, all I want to do now is to slack off. Who could refuse the life of an eight-figure monthly allowance without having to work or think? That is, until twelve foreign corporations joined forces to short-sell Grantcorp. Suddenly, Carl's father Ben was forced to resign. His two brothers were thrown into jail, while Carl, who used to look so omnipotent, was being threatened into surrendering all his shares. One of the twelve representatives even flashed a sleazy grin at me. "Don't worry, Mr. Grant. When your family goes bankrupt, we'll make sure to take good care of that charming little creature for you." I watched in silence, bearing with their insults as long as I could. If the Grants really went bankrupt, I'd never find a patron this generous! Just a second before Carl signed away his shares, I was in the main seat, calling a number I had not called for ten years. "Freeze all trades in the continent. I'm giving you a list of twelve organizations. Within 30 minutes, I want the people in charge at my location, explaining to me in person what they think they're doing."

I'm an orphan, and I spend all my free time volunteering at a nursing home. The elderly residents there feel sorry for me because I have no family, so they all treat me like their own granddaughter. Thanks to them, I have a pretty good life. That all changes when Jenna Olsen, the most popular girl in our department, uses her family's connections to take the spot I'd earned as one of Beyton University's top students. In front of the entire class, she tears my application to shreds and throws the pieces straight into my face. "Do you think an orphan like you can compete with me for this spot?" She pinches her nose and takes two steps back, looking at me with open disgust. "You spend all your time hanging around a bunch of old people who are practically on their deathbeds. You reek of old people! "You'd better know your place. Even if you take this all the way to the dean, no one is going to stand up for you." She folds her arms and gives me a mocking laugh. I bend down and pick up the torn pieces of my application, not bothering to say a word. What she doesn't realize is that the old people she looks down on are far more powerful than she could ever imagine. The old man I play chess with, Mr. Otis Larsson, is a former governor who once wielded enormous influence in the state. The old lady who dances with me, Ms. Nancy Jacoway, is a recently retired senior official at the Department of Education. Even Mr. David Wadsworth, who never stops trying to feed me snacks, is powerful enough to make the entire city of Beyton sit up and take notice.

My boyfriend gave me away to his arch-nemesis because he lost a bet. On the same night, I was driven to his arch-nemesis’ house. Before leaving, he expressed remorse, “Anya, just bear with it for a bit. I will come to pick you up in a month.” That night, the man pinned me to the bed and started unbuttoning my shirt. As he traced his cold fingertips against my collarbone, he said, deep and seductively, “So that’s the scumbag you fell for? Why don’t you be with me instead? I can give you everything you want.” I leaned forward and kissed him right away. “Sure.”

For our fifth anniversary, Zach Jennings made a reservation at an exclusive resort outside the city. But when Zach came to pick me up, Lily Lane was sitting in the back seat. She was the daughter of his former advisor and a junior in his program. He rolled down the window. "Lily's headed out that way too. I'll drop her off on the way." We'd barely been driving for ten minutes when we got caught in a chain-reaction crash on the overpass. In that split second, Zach yanked the wheel and flung his right arm across Lily to shield her. Five years earlier, he'd put his body between me and danger in the same way. It had convinced me I'd found someone who would always put me first, someone I could trust with my life. I sat in the passenger seat, and the impact threw me into the windshield. Blood immediately streamed down my forehead. Still shaken, Zach twisted around. The first person he checked on was Lily. "Are you okay? Did you get hurt?" It wasn't until Lily pointed at me, close to tears, that Zach spun toward me in a panic. His eyes darted away from my bleeding forehead as he hurried to explain, "Eva, don't read too much into it. There's an airbag up front. I only put my arm out for her on reflex." I wiped the blood from the corner of my eye. I'd never been more clearheaded. When lives are on the line, instinct doesn't lie. The person he cared about most wasn't me anymore. So I wasn't going to stay with him.

I spent three years on a medical aid mission in Afrikad. During that time, my husband and I could only video call twice a year. In our third year, I missed him so much that I secretly flew home, hoping to surprise him. The moment I opened the front door, I froze. A wedding portrait I had never seen before hung in the living room. In the photo were my husband and another woman. Then, I heard a burst of chatter. As I looked closer, I realized the plants in the house had started talking again. The pothos stretched its vines toward the living room. “She’s back! She’s back! That woman is wearing the doctor’s pajamas again!” The spider plant snickered, “She claimed they were a gift from her best friend last week. That old hag comes up with a new story every few days.” The cactus grumbled, “Quit arguing. She’s bringing that other man over for dinner today. How do you think she’ll explain this to her husband this time?” The pothos replied, “She’ll probably call him her cousin. That’s what she said last time.” Just then, a woman walked out carrying a child. She was startled for a moment when she saw me. “Who are you?” I gave her a faint smile. “I'm Justin's mother.”

I grew up alongside Arthur Stevenson, who eventually became the Lord Chancellor. However, on the day of the royal physician selection, he disqualified me on the grounds that I had spilled a small amount of medicinal residue. Instead, he chose my younger stepsister. When I asked him why, he looked completely unconcerned. "Your sister wants the position, so what's the harm in a loving older sister stepping aside? A proper lady shouldn't be so jealous and willful. Consider today a small lesson for you." What he didn't realize was that if I couldn't enter the castle as a resident physician, I would be forced to enter as a royal mistress to the tyrannical King. Later on, word reached me that the cold, unfeeling Lord Chancellor stood outside the castle gates, drenched in the pouring rain for an entire day and night, asking for nothing more than a chance to see me.

On the last day of the long weekend, my childhood best friend asked to borrow my half-million-dollar Porsche so he could drive out to the next town over and meet some girl he had been set up with. We went way back, so I did not just fill up the tank for him. I went ahead and tossed a box of condoms in the glovebox too. Then my phone buzzed. The dashcam was still synced to my account, and my wife's voice came through the live feed. "Babe, I can't believe you actually took that idiot's car to drive us to a motel on the toll-free highway. This is so hot." I stood there and felt the ground drop out from under me. The "blind date" my best friend had gone to meet was my wife, the woman I had married less than three months ago. "You two love free rides that much? Then stay on that highway forever." I opened the Porsche's remote vehicle management app and typed in a single command. "Auto-lock all doors by midnight. Kill all power." Right then, they were cruising down an icy mountain expressway at 10,000 feet, and the temperature was dropping fast. Midnight was only minutes away.

When my fiance, Kai Vaughn, and my best friend, Eliana Sinclair, drug me and drag me into the penthouse suite of the richest man in the capital, I breathe a sigh of relief. "At long last, I'm home." Kai assumes I've lost my mind under the threat of impending doom and viciously grips my chin. "Our company's survival depends on this project, you bitch! I hear there's a woman Mr. Harlan has never gotten over, even after all these years, and your face just happens to look a little like hers. "You'd better serve him well. Once we secure the project, I might even be generous enough to give you some money!" Eliana covers her mouth and giggles beside him. "That's right. You should thank your lucky stars that you get to serve Mr. Harlan. Don't be ungrateful!" When the drug takes effect, I'm violently shoved through the gilded doors. No one notices that as I lean back against the leather couch, my eyes are filled with mockery. The ruthless, cold-blooded Mr. Harlan Kai and Eliana are talking about—the man who treats his substitute lovers as nothing more than playthings—is actually my biological father, Tristan Harlan. Today, they've personally delivered me right back to Dad's side. Tomorrow, they'll learn what it means to live a life worse than death.

I'm five months pregnant. One day, I leave the house to do some grocery shopping. As I wait at a red light, I see a woman kiss my husband. I follow them in shock, snapping to my senses when I hear the screeching of a car's brakes. I get into an accident and end up comatose, losing my child in the process. Not only does my husband not care for me, but he even has his lover move in with him proudly. The moment I wake up, they panic.

My husband, Samuel Crawford, made an excuse about attending a company business meeting and refused to participate in our daughter's school activity. He also suggested that we should not participate either. Seeing my daughter's disappointment, I decided to take her myself. As soon as we entered the school, I spotted Samuel sitting on the stage with his ex-girlfriend, Monica Sterling, and her son. They looked intimate, appearing every bit like a perfect family of three. Samuel spoke confidently into the microphone about achieving family harmony and career success. Throughout his speech, he occasionally exchanged glances and smiles with Monica. The audience applauded enthusiastically. Samuel's expression grew increasingly smug, and even the little boy beside him wore an arrogant look. Soon the Q&A session came. I then grabbed the microphone and asked, "Mr. Crawford, when did you have a son? Does your wife know about this?"

One night, I calculate the expenses of giving birth to a child as I lounge on the bed. The expenses include delivery costs, nutritional costs, diapers and milk powder for the baby, and a nanny's salary. My husband, Louis Hoffman, suddenly says, "I know why your ex-boyfriend broke up with you now." When he notices my confusion, he continues, "There's no need to spend so much money just to give birth to a child. You're the only one who cares about these things." He frowns and crosses out "nanny's salary" from the list I've written in my notebook. "Why do you want to hire a nanny? Your mother can just come over and take care of you after childbirth. You also don't need to pay for nutrition. Just eat whatever's available. You'll be wasting your money if you buy those supplements. "You also don't need to buy expensive diapers and milk powder. The cheaper generic brands will do. You're just feeding your own ego by buying the branded ones. There's also no need to pay for a private delivery room. You can give birth in a shared one too. No need to waste thousands of dollars." Louis turns on his side so that his back is facing me. "It's no wonder your ex-boyfriend broke up with you. No man can put up with a frivolous spender like you," he says nonchalantly. My heart slowly sinks into my gut as I stare at the list that's covered in his scribbles. I think about how he bought a yacht for my sister, Madison Golding, to celebrate her birthday yesterday. He even declares that nothing is more valuable than Madison's smile. "You might as well forget about giving birth if you want to spend so extravagantly," Louis says. I hum in response, deciding that I won't give birth anymore.