Plot Twists Romance Short Stories & Hypocrisy Face Slapping Novels

In the Blackridge Mountains there's an old tradition: a man may leave the mountains only seven times in his life. If he still can't get out of the mountains with the woman he loves after the seventh journey, he's expected to marry inside the mountain villages and stay there for good. Because of that tradition, I borrowed hair oil from Grandpa seven times, put on my best coat, and crossed ridge after ridge down to the town below, waiting each time for the woman who said she'd take me out of the mountains and marry me. All seven times, she never came. At the village, the chief sat smoking his pipe and said, "That's the seventh time you've gone down for marriage registration. And that young director of yours ran off to the next village again, to film the handsome boy who smiles for her camera. "Her heart hasn't been on you in a long time, Noah. What are you still waiting for?" In the four years since she came to these mountains, I crossed them for her seven times. But something always happened to the man named Ash, and every time, I was the one left behind. I looked at the village chief and shook my head. "I'm not waiting anymore. I'm getting married in three days."

On the day of our engagement party rehearsal, the wedding company suddenly calls to tell me that someone has taken over our hotel ballroom at the last minute. I rush to the hotel to sort it out, only to see my fiance's name, Clark Zimmer, on the welcome sign outside the ballroom. But I'm not the bride. Through the half-open door, I see him down on one knee, slipping a crystal slipper onto another woman's foot. Clark's mother, Darlene Foster, stands nearby. She's beaming with delight. "You two are a much better match. As for Yvonne, let her transfer the project to you first, Clark. Then we can find a reason to call off your engagement to her." Instead of storming in, I record everything on my phone and call Clark. "There's a problem with the ballroom. Can you come over and deal with it with me?" There's a brief pause before his voice turns gentle. "Babe, I'm at the hospital with Mom. She's getting some tests done, so I might not make it home tonight." I look at Darlene onstage, looking perfectly healthy as she happily greets the guests. I can't help but smile. "Alright. Take care of what you need to." I hang up and immediately call my lawyer. If Clark wants my project that badly, I'm more than happy to give him a very special gift.

On Thanksgiving, I was feeding my five-year-old brother, Preston Foster, when he suddenly said he'd dreamed about the future, "Westfield Steel stock is going to shoot up thirtyfold in three days!" I didn't understand what he was talking about, so I ignored him. But three days later, the stock really did jump thirtyfold. "I dreamed about it three days ago. Reed heard me too. He kept it from you on purpose. He's bad luck! If you beat him to death, our family will finally start making money." My father, Robert Foster, flew into a rage. He strung me up and beat me for an entire day and night. My aunt, Mallory Foster, managed to save me before it was too late, but by then, one of my legs had already been broken. From that day on, Preston became the family's miracle child who could see the future, while I became the one they blamed for everything. To make up for what I'd supposedly done, I dropped out of school young and went to work despite my damaged leg. I worked myself sick to buy my family a new house and even paid for Preston's wedding. Years later, on another Thanksgiving, he laughingly admitted the truth, "I never actually made that prediction back then! Who knew Reed would be dumb enough to believe I did? And all that stuff about him being bad luck? I made that up too." I broke down and demanded an explanation, but my family acted as though I was the one causing trouble. "Preston was just playing a joke. Why are you making such a big deal out of it? It happened years ago. Do you really have to tear this family apart over something so old?" I lost all hope and jumped to my death. When I opened my eyes again, I was five years old. This time, I would be the miracle child who could see the future.

My fiance's best friend Cindy Jones was an adult movie director. On the day of our wedding, we exchanged rings when she started yelling, calling me out for starring in adult films. "I've always been saying that Tina Lynd's filth and you shouldn't touch her with a six-foot pole!" Flinging a stack of photos at my face, she snorted. "You want evidence? There! Come take a good look, everyone!" As the guests flocked around for a look, my fiance's mother slapped me across the face after just one look, leaving me tasting blood in my mouth while she shrieked, "How dare you! Forget being a shrew—you'd scam my son too? That's why there's been so many botched weddings!" Indeed, it was the same thing three years ago, when Cindy brought a paid actor claiming to be my husband. My fiance, Sam Zimmer, didn't say a word as he stormed out, and it was not until last year that he came begging for reconciliation after finding out that it was all a misunderstanding. We just sent out the invitation when Cindy showed up, calling me a gold digger who married men to steal all their money, after which Sam canceled the wedding again. And now, with our parents present, she slandered me once more. I clutched my cheek, gritting my teeth as I glared at Sam. "Three times. Do you really care?" He wasn't even looking at me as he was busy patting Cindy's back to calm her down. "Cindy means no harm. She's just worried about you." I kicked the bridal shoes off my feet as I strode to my parents, scoffing, "You can marry her if you trust her that much!"

A week before our engagement, I finally learned that the man Madison Clarke had always secretly loved... was me. Overjoyed, I hurried to sign to her, wanting to tell her that I was LeoWinter—the gaming partner she'd been coupled with online. What I got in return was ridicule. "Charlie, how does a mute guy like you manage to pull so many tricks?" "LeoWinter already told me his account got stolen. He switched accounts ages ago. And you still want to pretend you're him?" It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. My entire body went rigid. She had forgotten that this game ID was permanently bound to the account. It was impossible for it to be stolen.

I've just received a text from my CEO wife, Cara Lavigne. Apparently, she's gone on another last-minute business trip again, so she can't accompany me to the funeral home. But soon, I see Cara's silhouette being captured in a photo, where she celebrates her assistant, Warren Stone's birthday with him in a work-related post he has just uploaded. The caption reads, "Thank you for the amazing cake, boss! I feel so happy to be able to celebrate my birthday!" I just smile calmly before leaving a like and a comment. "Happy birthday." My colleagues, on the other hand, start betting pools like mad to see what kind of tricks I'm going to pull this time in order to kick up a ruckus. Cara calls me immediately just to scold me. "Warren is just celebrating his birthday, so what's with the comment? He's a very sensitive person, you know! How is he going to survive in this company now that you've passive-aggressively humiliated him in that public post? "It's been barely two years since Warren joined this company, not to mention he doesn't have any friends! What's wrong with me celebrating his birthday with him, huh? People like you, who are born with silver spoons in their mouths, will never understand Warren's plight! "I want you to delete your comment right now! We'll talk more about this once I'm home! Your dad is already dead anyway, so you can just wait for a few more days before claiming his body!" I can only clench my fists tightly as I listen to Cara's heartless and nonchalant words. "No need for that." Once she is back, the divorce procedures will be done.

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'd barely been named Imperial Consort when my father struck the petition drum to demand justice and exposed me as no longer being a maiden. The Emperor was furious. I was stripped of my consort robes, brutally tortured, and driven from the palace. My mother was heartbroken. Determined to prove my innocence, she gathered every elder in our family. But the moment they arrived, she dropped to her knees in front of me and begged again and again, her face full of fear. "Elara, I swear I'll keep quiet. I'll never tell anyone about you and the coachman!" "Please stop using your hex beetles to torture me. I can't take it anymore!" I tried desperately to explain that I'd done nothing, but my father kicked me to the ground and found swarms of hex beetles on me. "The proof is right here and you're still lying? You're shameless and vicious. I have no daughter like you!" With the elders' backing, my parents disowned me and threw me out of the house. When I had nowhere left to go, my brother took me to the frontier. Enemy soldiers ambushed him. I used my own body as his shield and took dozens of sword strokes, holding on until reinforcements arrived. But the first thing he did when help came was pull out letters proving I'd committed treason and shout at me. "I took her in out of kindness, and she conspired with the enemy to kill me. When I survived, she even tried to curse me with her beetles..." I was punished under military law and hacked to pieces on the spot. Even as I died, I couldn't understand why my own family would frame me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my father exposed me.

Eight years ago, my daughter, Joey Porter, was stuck in the desert of death. Her GPS had blinked out, and she ran out of supplies. She kept calling for me for over a dozen hours over the walkie-talkie. The only rescue team was an hour's flight away from her, only to get intercepted halfway there. Later on, I found out that my wife, Ruby Shaw, spent 800 thousand dollars bribing the dispatch center, rerouting the rescue team's flight route just so they could save Ruby's younger brother, Howard Shaw, instead. Howard had had too much to drink at that time, causing him to lose his way outside the resort that was located at the edge of the desert. When he was found, it turned out that he was about a mile away from the resort. But the rescue team never came for Joey, who waited for them till she was dehydrated and, later on, died in the desert. Since then, I've quit my job and made this living hell my new home. For the next eight years, I work as a desert guide, ultimately saving over 100 people. Every inch of the dunes and the hidden sand currents are engraved into my mind. Today, my partner decides to give me a rescue order that's worth an astronomical amount. He urges me to pack my things and set off immediately. I glance at the photo, only to see a familiar face. That's when I turn off my walkie-talkie and get up to my feet before heading outside. "I can't save this person."

My best friend, Jake Lawson, caught his fiancée, Lyla Sterling, cheating right in the middle of their engagement party. Instead of apologizing, Lyla just sneered at Jake in front of the entire crowded room. "Oh, please. As if any other girl in the world would actually want you." Jake balled his hands into tight fists, his knees buckling like he was about to collapse. In a moment of pure, reckless impulse, I grabbed my own girlfriend’s hand and shoved it directly into his palm. "Who says nobody wants him?" I demanded, my voice ringing out across the hall. "Starting right now, she's his girlfriend." My girlfriend, Nora Mitchell, froze, totally stunned. A heartbeat later, she played along. She wrapped her arm tightly around Jake’s, and together, they walked straight out of the party. Late that night, the three of us knocked back drinks together, laughing it off. We all agreed it was just a one-time performance. However, Lyla wouldn't stop harassing Jake. Nora started stepping in as the fake girlfriend to keep Lyla away, accompanying him to parties and helping him navigate dinner with his parents. I never suspected a single thing. Until I stumbled across a post online. [Borrowed my best friend’s girlfriend to spite my cheating ex. Now I don’t want to give her back. What do I do?] The original poster said his best friend had handed the girl over with his own two hands. The first time they held hands was just for show. The first time they hugged was just an act. The first time she spent the night at his house, though, was completely real. People in the comments flamed him for being a backstabbing snake. He replied: [After that night, things happened between us. I'm taking responsibility for her.] I stared at the photo frame on our living room table, the three of us smiling back at me, as a sickening cold crept from my fingers all the way down to my toes. I only lent him a single night to save his dignity. They took that single night and turned it into forever.

On my birthday, my boyfriend Heath Merrick sent me a transfer of 200 dollars, same as always. The note read: [Birthday gift for Macy. Too busy lately, so I won't be around to celebrate with you.] A second later, I saw a message my best friend, Kyra Donnelly, had accidentally sent to our four-person group chat. [Fourth birthday we've spent together! Thank you, Brody and Heath, for the gifts!] The photo attached was a cake topper, a miniature figurine made of two ounces of solid gold. Less than a minute after the message appeared, my brother, Brody Lawton and also the group admin, deleted it for her. He tried to cover it up by flooding the chat with a string of GIFs, then casually typed a new message as if nothing had happened. [It's Kyra's and Macy's birthday today. Let's go eat at Sorelli's? Kyra's been wanting to try their food for ages, and I just managed to snag a reservation.] Before I could even respond, my boyfriend and my best friend had already sent back thumbs-up stickers in perfect sync. I quietly deleted the half-typed message that read: [Their food is too spicy for me.] I sent a thumbs-up sticker of my own. The front door opened, and all three of them appeared in the doorway together. Brody rushed me. "Hurry up, everyone's waiting for you!" Heath frowned. "Stop dawdling. We'll lose the reservation." No one mentioned the message Kyra had accidentally posted. I looked at the three of them, at how naturally my brother and my boyfriend stood on either side of Kyra. One of them was weighed down with shopping bags full of clothes she had bought. The other had both hands full of her snacks and drinks. The whole thing suddenly felt completely pointless. I unlocked my phone and sent a message to my advisor: [Professor, I've decided to accept the exchange program abroad.]

When I am diagnosed with congenital heart disease, I am forced to leave the dance company and give up the career I have spent my entire life working toward. My best friend, Vivian Carter, steps into my place, promising to fulfill my dream in my stead. My boyfriend, Ethan Bennett, proposes to me on the spot. He swears that no matter what happens to me—or what becomes of me—he will never leave my side. Over the next five years, I devote myself to helping Vivian rise through the ranks until she becomes the company's principal dancer. With my support, Ethan's career flourishes as well. And through it all, they never stop telling me they are searching for a way to cure me. This year, while both of them are busy preparing for an upcoming competition, I go to my follow-up appointment alone. But when I receive the results, I am stunned. There is nothing wrong with my heart. Overwhelmed with joy, I clutch the medical report to my chest and rush home, eager to share the news with them. Then, before I can step inside, I hear voices coming from within. Vivian speaks first. "Evelyn's follow-up appointment is coming up. Are you sure nothing will go wrong?" Ethan's voice is calm and unconcerned. "I already took care of it. Her test results will still show that she has heart disease." He pauses before adding, "Besides, she hasn't danced in five years. Even if she somehow finds out, what can she possibly do?" Vivian lets out a quiet laugh. "You're right." I freeze outside the door. The blood drains from my face as their words sink in. So this is the truth. My best friend and the man who promised to love me forever have been lying to me all along. Every promise. Every act of devotion. Every sacrifice I thought they had made for me. It has all been a lie.

I was out delivering food in the blistering heat when I scrolled past a viral couple's vlog on Snapreel. The woman in the video steered with one hand, and the line of her profile looked exactly like my girlfriend, Jenna Wilder. I took a screenshot and sent it to her. [Look, this woman could be your twin.] Jenna replied almost right away, sounding fond and a little exasperated. [Babe, don't be silly. I'm hauling boxes at the warehouse right now and I'm covered in dust.] She followed it with a photo of herself in the warehouse and told me to stay cool out there. I looked at the photo, shook my head, and smiled. Jenna would not even buy an ice cream without splitting it with me. There was no way she was the trust fund girl in that video who threw money around like it was nothing. A moment later, the vlogger posted an update. In the new video, Jenna wore a couture gown in a room filled with red roses, wrapped in the arms of a young man with a dazzling smile. The caption read, [Happy sixth anniversary to the man who's always by my side.] Jenna and I had only been together for three years.

I was afraid of water. But my best friend, Elara Vance, and my boyfriend, Everett Langley, were both competitive swimmers. Whenever they got together, they never ran out of things to talk about. I could never get a word in. The day Everett won the state swimming championship, I forced myself to attend the pool party to celebrate his victory, even though I was terrified of the water. But Elara suddenly grabbed my ankle and dragged me toward the deep end. "Tessa, you've been afraid of water for years. Today, I'm going to help you get over it." Everett let out a helpless laugh. "She's been afraid of water since she was a kid. Go easy on her." I thrashed desperately, trying to grab the side of the pool, but Elara grabbed me and shoved my head underwater. "Don't be scared, Tessa. This is exposure therapy. A few more gulps, and you'll be cured." My lungs burned as I choked on the water. I reached desperately for Everett. He ignored my pleas and gently coaxed me, "I'm the state swimming champion, and you're my girlfriend, but you're too scared to even get in the water. How embarrassing would that be if people found out? Just hang in there. Once you learn, you'll be fine." Elara shoved me underwater again, laughing. "Look at her kicking! This is hilarious. Film this!" Everett pulled out his phone and pointed the camera at me as I thrashed in the water. "Let's save this. We can watch it together once you learn how to swim." The two of them kept laughing and fooling around. By then, I had already lost consciousness and was slowly sinking beneath the water.

Noelle Anderson grows up with Stephen Sedgwick, the son of the family her mother works for as a housekeeper. What starts as a childhood friendship slowly turns into love. But when Stephen's father dies, everything between them changes. Stephen turns his hatred and resentment on Noelle, taking pleasure in making her miserable. After one disappointment too many, Noelle finally walks away. But the moment Stephen hears she's getting married, he becomes desperate to win her back.

During the party celebrating my promotion, I am in the middle of cutting the cake when a positive pregnancy test report is thrown right in my face. Subsequently, my normally compliant boyfriend, Zachary Zolt, pulls my best friend, Caroline Lotter, into his arms. With reddened eyes, he says, "Winnie, for the past three years, I've stayed by your side, giving you all the emotional support you needed and the respect you deserved. "However, Carol is now pregnant with my baby, and I have to take responsibility. You've always been magnanimous, so don't be petty over a minor matter, alright? Let's part amicably." Our colleagues gasp in surprise before shooting me a look, as though I were a malicious woman standing in the way of true love. Setting down the knife, I stare at the passionate father-to-be, completely dumbfounded. Since when has medical technology advanced this far? Years ago, worried about being lonely, I specifically bought him to look after me at home. Yet now he's gone off to ease someone else's loneliness? Except he is just an android I bought—how on earth can he possibly get someone pregnant?

After being reborn, I secretly switch the man I want to marry the most to the useless scion who loves flirting with me that lives next door. My dad, who's a high-ranking military colonel, is quite surprised by my choice, but he respects my wishes. In my past life, when Dad asked who I liked the most in the entire neighborhood, I had written down Damian Conrad's name. He nodded and told me, "This man has contributed greatly to the country despite only joining the army for three years. His future will definitely be a bright one. "A man as just and fair as him will undoubtedly be a good man who takes good care of his family and stays devoted to them." Dad immediately arranged for the two families to meet. Everyone thought that it was a rare and fated union. Our wedding was very grand and high-profile. Most of the people living in the military base came over to celebrate our wedding. But Damian set off for the frontier half a year after our marriage, with the excuse of wanting to contribute to the country. Not only did he leave me behind to take care of my in-laws on my own, but he also cut off all contact with me when Dad was severely ill. When I was finally done dealing with Dad's funeral matters, all I received was the bad news of Damian's death at the frontier. Crushed by the devastation and despair of the news, I fell into severe depression. Soon, I took my own life by jumping off the building. After my death, my soul refused to fade away at all. 40 years later, an elderly man and woman with graying hair showed up before my grave. With an arm around Heidi Myers' waist, Damian paid his respects to me at my grave. "It's my fault for lying to you back then, Carla. But Heidi doesn't have much time to live, so I can resort to desperate measures. Please let everything go and stop pestering her, Carla. If you really are resentful, feel free to come at me instead." It turns out that Damian loved Heidi this much that he was willing to fake his death just to trick me. But at the same time, they were so superstitious that they thought I was the one pestering Heidi, causing her to be afflicted with a terminal cancer. Now that I found out about the truth, I finally let my obsession go. When I open my eyes again, I realize I've returned to the day Dad asks me who I want to marry the most.

The day Ethan Pierce’s stepsister, who suffered from depression, threatened suicide for the ninety-ninth time, he abandoned me at the altar for the ninety-ninth time. "As a psychiatrist, I have a responsibility to my patient." And just like that, the system declared that I had failed my mission. My punishment was severe depression. Every last trace of my will to live was taken from me. From that day on, all I wanted was to die as quickly as possible so I could return to my original world. By the time Ethan finally realized that I truly wanted to die, he was desperate. He used everything he had learned in his entire career to try to cure me. To awaken even the slightest bit of love I had once felt for him. To force me to stay in this world. But I didn’t want him anymore. I hadn’t for a long time.

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!"

In Reychelle City, a contest was held to crown the most beautiful woman. After my cousin scarred my face, she seized first place with ease. What she never expected was that this year's contest wasn't for fame; it was to select the future wife of the Third Prince, a ruthless, bloodthirsty eunuch. That very afternoon, gifts poured in by the cartload. My betrothed panicked. That night, he tore up our engagement contract and carried my cousin into the bridal chamber. The next day, she trailed her lacquered fingertips across my cheek and sneered, "Alicia, with your ruined face, who would ever want you? Perhaps the beggar at the street corner might take you in." I caught her wrist, let out a cold laugh, and said, "Who told you I would marry a beggar?" Before her stunned eyes, I pushed open my parents' chamber doors. "Mom, since Maggie doesn't wish to be the prince's consort… let me take her place." Three years later, before the eyes of a shocked court, the Third Prince entered the grand hall with me at his side, with two children in tow. No one had foreseen it. This body of mine, blessed with the rarest gift of fertility, was the perfect match for a man believed incapable of siring heirs.