Contos de Romance sobre Plot Twists e Romances com Male POV e Face Slapping

On the night before the wedding that I was a groomsman for, I was drugged and locked into the same room as the bride. The drug was overpowering, and I felt desire burning within me. To keep my wits about, I smashed a glass and slashed my arm with the shard. Then, I submerged myself in the bathtub filled with cold water for an entire night. That morning, my fiancee, Aspen Snow, walked in with the groom, Brandon Reid. She glanced at me before she smiled at Brandon. “Your bride has passed the test. You can marry her without any concerns now.” Brandon patted Aspen’s shoulder and pretended to be solemn. “Aspen, thankfully you’ve thought this through. If we’d gotten some other man to do this, I’m afraid it’ll complicate things further in the future.” My mind went blank. My lips quivered as I asked Aspen, “You were the one who drugged me?” Aspen walked over and took off her coat to put it around my wet body. “Brandon has premarital anxiety, so I have to help him test his bride. “Besides, we’re going to get married in two months’ time. There are no better candidates than you. “You weren’t taken advantage of anyway. Quick, change into your groomsman attire.” I looked at the bone-deep cut on my arm and laughed at myself. “Aspen, it’s over between us.”

I cooked up a storm for our seventh wedding anniversary. However, my CEO wife took a couple of bites before leaving in haste for some work emergency. I trailed behind her, only to find her entering an upscale event space where she held a sip-and-see event for the twins she had through surrogacy. Pulling out a centurion card, she handed it to her male secretary and uttered solemnly, “You’ve done well, Dale. Everything I own will go to the children.” Dale, his eyes sparkling, pressed his lips against hers. “Ms. Markham, it’s my honor to have children with you.” With a scoff, I pushed open the door to the hall. I’d like to see how the guy managed to have children with a woman who was born with underdeveloped ovarian follicles.

My fiancee, Emma Jillard's assistant, Charlie Ziegler, loves placing bets. After Emma loses a bet to him, she cancels our wedding for the 19th time because of him. I warn her that if this happens again, I'll marry another woman immediately. But Emma just smiles at me nonchalantly. "You've already donated your kidney to me, Shawn. What makes you think you can marry someone else? Besides, who else but me will marry a handicap like you?" On the 20th wedding, Charlie sends Emma a photo of the airport, where half a flight ticket can be seen. This is another bet that he has made with her. "If you can't find me in half an hour, you will never be able to see me again." Having noticed the destination that's printed on the ticket, Emma rips her wedding veil off her head before rushing toward the airport in a fit of panic. Half an hour later, Charlie updates his social media feed. "Only the one who truly cares for you is willing to overcome challenges for you." Upon noticing the post, I don't bother responding to it. Instead, I quietly dial a phone number that I'm very familiar with. "Eleanor, are you still going to keep your word of marrying me back then?" Her voice echoes back excitedly. "Seriously? Of course! As long as you're my marriage partner, I will forever stick to that promise!"

The night before my flight home, my online dating partner texted me: [Tomorrow is our first anniversary. Shall we meet in person?] The moment that message appeared, the group chat filled with rich heiresses of the city that I had secretly snuck in exploded. [Congratulations, Wren! You’re at the last stage of your plan for revenge!!] Before I realized what was going on, a photo of me in my orientation days appeared in the chat. I was 340 pounds in the photo, my facial features were all squashed together, and my entire body was swollen beyond belief. “Whoa, Wren actually dated this piggy for one whole year all to seek revenge for Sean. Wren really loves Sean so much!” The group chat started betting on whether I would kneel and beg Wren not to break up with me when I see her in person tomorrow. Wren texted everyone: [I bet five million dollars that John Jackson will kneel and apologize to Sean for my sake.] The other members of the group chat started placing their bets as well; 500,000 dollars, one million dollars, 1.5 million dollars. Sean’s profile picture appeared, and he texted: [Don't be like this. He’s my older brother, after all. Although he stole my opportunity to go overseas, I’ve gotten used to it since we were young. Don’t go overboard today, just enough to make him regretful.] Looking at all the messages expressing their heartache over Sean, I tightened my grip over my phone.

I spent five years delivering food and saved up enough to buy a home, all so I could marry my girlfriend of five years, Megan Portman. On the day of the bride pickup, the bridesmaids went all out with their pre-wedding mini games, and I happily played along. But once every cash envelope had been handed out, I realized something was off. Megan's best friend, Jeanie Westwood, pulled out her phone and opened her payment app. "We want to share in the good luck too. There are eighteen of us here, so each of us gets 999 dollars. We'll bless your marriage to be a long-lasting and happy one." After a lot of pleading, I scraped together 20,000 dollars and sent it over. I figured that was enough to finally win my bride. Instead, Megan sat on the bed and refused to let her feet touch the floor. "My mom just laid down the law. The send-off fee is going up. Let's round it off to 66,000 dollars." I was stunned. "Didn't we agree on 6,600 dollars? Where am I supposed to get another 60,000 dollars right now?" Megan played with her nails, her face cold. "That's your problem. If you can't come up with the money, I'm not putting my shoes on." I looked around at the room full of relatives enjoying the show and stood up. "This wedding is off."

On the day of our wedding ceremony, Nalani Smith shows up with her family of three to marry me. Her younger brother, Felix Smith, follows closely behind her, holding a child in his arms. I stub out my cigarette and ask apathetically, "Why don't I step aside and let you two have each other?" Tears immediately well up in her eyes, and she raises her hand to swear that there's absolutely nothing going on between them and that all those rumors are nothing but malicious slander from outsiders. I nod. When the officiant announces that it's time for the couple to exchange rings, Felix abruptly drops to his knees. Pointing his finger at her, his voice trembles. "But I'm the one you love!" Nalani neither confirms nor denies it. She merely stands there, tears streaming down her face. Noticing the anguish on her face, I fling her hand away and push her straight into his arms. "Go ahead. No one's stopping you from keeping it in the family," I say nonchalantly.

I am Carlton Helfer, the most useless alchemy student in Crucible. Whenever I tried to craft pills, I somehow blew up the entire compound to pieces. So, my teacher, Caspian Hemlock, never allowed me to touch a cauldron, and my female peers always took the blame for me. Then, Zephyr Tierra arrived in town. He was a once-in-a-millennium prodigy at pill crafting. He swore he could raise our order to glory, and he loathed worthless trash like me above all else. So, he organized a pill-crafting tournament with my female peers, using me as a negative example every single day. On the day of the Arch-Alchemist’s election, he and my female peers drugged me with a crippling draught and cast me into the Miasma Woods. I died, but my soul stayed. I bound myself to a Zero to Hero System. The system spoke, “Carlton, you have fulfilled the prerequisite: A Wretched Death. The First Alchemist’s Legacy acquired.” When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day Zephyr Tierra arrived in town. This time, when I flicked my finger, Enneaphyllon, an herb extinct for ages, sprouted from my palm. Zephyr’s eyes went wide. “I-Impossible!” I sneered and said, “Don’t you know that a true arch-alchemist doesn’t need a cauldron?” Every herb and every tree in the whole of Crucible was my elixir.

Grandpa will be announcing his will at his birthday banquet. Apparently, I only possess the right to inherit the family's assets if I'm in a stable relationship with someone. I beg my girlfriend, Hannah Samson, countless times to have our relationship publicized. But she keeps using her overtime shift as an excuse. Today, she finally yields to me. "Alright. You should attend the family meeting first. I'll be there soon." The moment I step into the manor on my own, I hear my relatives' mocking laughter surrounding me. "You keep claiming that you're busy with your career every day. To think that you can't even bring your own girlfriend to this meeting! You do realize that your inheritance right depends on your partner, right? "Don't tell me you lied to us about having a girlfriend!" I clutch my phone tightly, feeling my palm going clammy with sweat. Time slowly ticks past. Just as Grandpa is about to read his will out loud, someone pushes the front door open abruptly. I turn around in delight, only for my smile to freeze on my face. Isaac Letterman, the fake heir, smiles wanly at everyone, his hand still laced with Hannah's. "Sorry, we're late." As I stare at the duo, I feel my heart plunging into an icy abyss. Then, I turn back to look at the relatives, who were mocking me earlier. "You said you wanted to see my girlfriend, right? That's her right there."

Back when Elaine and I are most in love, I'm a renowned financial reporter, while Elaine Crowley is a rising star in capital circles. However, on the day I'm supposed to interview her, she stands me up once again. My boss, Lisa Donica, waves a limp finger at me and sneers. "You've been sleeping together for eight years, and you still can't land an interview with her? Has she already gotten bored of you? But I guess that makes sense. Some men don't respect themselves—they throw themselves at women and expect to be worth something!" I ignore her and step outside to call Elaine. But the moment I turn around, I find her Cullinan parked right outside. A surge of joy rushes through me. I'm just about to call out to her when the car door opens. Elaine, with her head bowed, carefully steps out with my coworker, their bodies far too close for comfort. Lisa shoots me a sideways glance. "Your woman is letting your biggest rival put his arm around her waist? Luke Tilghman, you've been cheated on!" My eyes fall on the Cullinan. I press my lips together and make a call. "Send a crew over. It's time to take out the trash!"

When I stepped aside and handed the starting spot on the esports team to the guy Zara Moody had always loved, she saw how obedient I had been and moved our wedding up as a reward. But at the ceremony, the man she could never forget suddenly pulled out a knife and cut himself, jealousy burning in his eyes. "Please don't marry him!" Zara, who was usually so calm, instantly lost her composure. She turned to me, panic written all over her face as she begged me to help save him. Every guest in the room was watching, waiting to see how I would react. I didn't argue or cause a scene. Instead, I quietly stepped aside and gave up the groom's place. When Zara saw how reasonable I was, just like always, her eyes reddened at the corners. "I promise this is the last time I'll ever put you through something like this. After the ceremony, we'll go register our marriage." What she forgot was that this was the 96th time she had hurt me. And I had no intention of spending the rest of my life with her. I was only waiting for three more promises. Once I repaid the debt I owed her for saving my grandmother's life all those years ago, I would walk away from her for good. After that, we would never see each other again.

My wife, an airline captain, was eight months pregnant when her plane crashed. In the middle of the disaster, she carried out an emergency landing. I searched through the wreckage for any sign of my wife, Candice Jenkins, only to be told that not even her remains could be found. Other than me, the only survivors were my wife’s younger sister and her brother-in-law, Austin Ryles. I searched frantically for my wife’s whereabouts, but five months later, I accidentally overheard my sister-in-law arguing with a friend while drunk. "Austin suddenly lost his wife, and his arm was injured in the crash. How could I just leave him alone? "Back then, Jon Cole’s mother drugged me and forced me to marry him. After all these years, it’s impossible for me not to feel some resentment. I might as well use this chance to make up for my regrets. Once Austin’s arm recovers, everything can go back to normal." Only then did I realize that the 'sister-in-law' standing before me was actually my missing wife, Candice Jenkins. My heart turned cold. I threw her memorial portrait into the trash and called my parents. "Stop looking for Candice. Just erase her records. "I’m remarrying."

On my very first night working the overnight shift at the new hospital I've been transferred to, I run into my wife, Willow Jensen, who claimed she needed to be away on a year-long business trip. Now, she's lying on a gurney outside the delivery room, heavily pregnant, with blood pouring from beneath her. The man kneeling beside her grabs my hand tightly, his desperate pleas ringing in my ears. "Doctor, please! You have to save her!"

When we're in a meeting during an overtime shift, Jazmine Garcia's secretary, Alvin Bauer, whisks a powerbank from her bag, as if it's the most natural thing to do in this world. Jazmine merely glances at him. She opts not to comment anything and just continue the meeting instead. The next morning, I hand over a divorce agreement that I've just printed. Jazmine chucks it into the trash can impatiently. "All this just because Alvin used my powerbank?" I nod for a moment before shaking my head. "It's because he never told you that he wanted to use your powerbank, and yet he took it from your bag in a natural manner. On top of that, you didn't stop him from using your powerbank, too." Jazmine shoots me a nasty glance at my words. Then, she drops her signature onto the divorce agreement before throwing it at my face. "You really have too much free time on your hands! All you do is pay attention to such menial matters and picking fights with me over them! "I've already signed the divorce agreement! I'll have you know that since you have the guts to bring up divorce, you should be ready to suffer from the consequences! I will never go back to you!" Jazmine and I are childhood friends, and our relationship has spanned for more than 20 years. She refuses to believe that I'll give up on our relationship over such a petty matter in such a short time. But the straw that ends up crushing the camel is never the final straw.

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."

Ten years ago, my ex-wife, Hailey Anderson, secretly signed an organ donation agreement without my knowledge. She donated the heart of our son, Jayden Smith, to her lover, Seth Parker’s dying son, Charlie Parker. When I arrived at the hospital, Jayden’s body was already in the cold morgue. Hailey was waiting outside another ward. She teared up in joy when Charlie regained his heartbeat. On the day of Jayden’s burial, I signed the divorce agreement. Then, I changed my name and left the city. After ten years of excruciatingly hard work, I specialized in cardiovascular surgery. Other than inventing the first fully implantable artificial heart, I also became the top surgeon globally. Many wealthy people begged me to save their lives. One day, my assistant, Finn Reid, passed me the latest emergency name list for a heart transplant. The first patient in need of a heart was Charlie. Charlie was in a critical condition due to an acute rejection of Jayden’s stolen heart. I was the only doctor who was able to carry out that surgery. Without expression, I picked up my red pen and slashed a big cross on his application form. “I’m not operating on this patient.”

The second before the car crash, my best friend, Chester Hastings, covered me with his body. When we woke up, he was amnesiac, and he mistook my fiancee, Aria Quentin, for his own girlfriend. In the hopes that he would get better soon, the four of us decided to go along with the mistake. The first month, my pre-wedding vacation was hijacked. Chester held Aria and kissed her while I was left at the back of the pack holding bags for the five of us. The second month, Chester moved into our marital home. My name was replaced with Chester’s on the deed. My older sister, Vanessa Hutton, comforted me. “Chester only got amnesia because he saved you. We’re only doing this to help him get his memories back.” I had believed them and forced a smile to play out this farce. In the ninth month, however, I put on a suit and boutonniere and rushed to the wedding venue. Chester was wearing my wedding suit and holding Aria’s hand as he welcomed the guests. Vanessa patted my shoulder. “Chester found your wedding suit yesterday. We couldn’t bear to tell him the truth, so let’s just let him have this wedding, alright?” Emery McCall laughed and added, “That’s right. You’ve gone along with this eight times already, might as well make it a ninth.” My heart ached, and the ring on my finger felt tight and suffocating. When I looked up, I saw Chester wearing my backup ring, sized perfectly for him. At that moment, I noticed my one-size-smaller suit fit him perfectly as well. It seemed that everyone knew the truth and saw Chester as the true groom of this wedding. The only one who was against this farce had always been me and me alone. I laughed bitterly and took off my wedding ring. Since that was how things were, I would let them keep playing out their farce as they liked.

Mackenzie Lister, my germaphobe wife, refuses to let any man besides me touch her. She stays a full arm's length away even when posing for photos with investors. It stays that way until the day of my birthday, when Colin Sumner, her assistant, suddenly posts a photo on his social media. In the photo, Mackenzie lets Colin hold her around the waist from behind. "I finally got to meet the role model I grew up looking up to! I have to keep pushing forward and chase my dreams!" I leave a comment on the post. "You two are an item now?" Mackenzie calls me. "He has always looked up to me, that's all. Why do you always have to twist things around? You'd better not make a fool of yourself and delete that comment this instant!" Additionally, my colleagues also blame me for meddling too much in other people's business. Colin immediately posts an update. "I've learned my first lesson from my role model—don't waste your time arguing with petty people." I look at my social media feed, which is getting spammed with comments, and place a single phone call. The next day, every investment in Mackenzie's company is withdrawn.

Ten years after I missed my shot at college, I was selling burgers from a street cart when I ran into Marisa Doyle. Her eyes fell on the empty pant leg where my left leg should have been, and she froze. I calmly bagged up her order and held it out. "That'll be ten dollars." She did not take it. Instead, she scanned the QR code taped to my cart, and my phone chimed with a notification. She had sent me a million dollars. "I never thought you'd end up like this. Back then... What I did to you was wrong. I gave your Wexley University acceptance letter to Tobias." Scalding grease spattered off the griddle and turned my arm red, but I did not feel a thing. Ten years earlier, Tobias Kerr had been brought home as the family's real son, and I had become the fake heir nobody needed anymore. Even my engagement to Marisa was handed over to him. Anger stung my eyes as I stared at the diamond ring on her finger, and my voice broke. "So now that it's all out, you get to feel better. What about me?" After losing my place at college, I was thrown out of the house. I scraped through community college and hit dead ends everywhere I turned. When I finally found a job that kept food on the table, a car accident took one of my legs. Just then, a runaway truck came barreling straight at me. Marisa lunged forward and shoved me out of the way. A second later, the truck slammed into her and sent her flying. In her final moments, she apologized to me. "I've paid back everything I owed you. Please don't hate me. If there's another life, don't love me again." Her blood splashed across my face. The moment her hand went limp, everything went black. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day everything changed.

The morning of my wedding, my own sister locked me in a bathroom stall. The boy I had sponsored out of poverty couldn't bear to see my fiancée standing alone at the altar, so he stepped up and married Lillian Gates in my place. My sister was so moved that she claimed him on the spot as a brother and let him complete the marriage alliance with the Gates family in my name. My fiancée said, "Silas, you healed my legs. I love you. I respect you. But Liam and I have already registered our marriage. From here on, one of you is my husband, and the other is my boyfriend. Things between us can stay the same… alright?" I slapped her across the face. What she did not know was that her legs were never fully healed. In seven days, without my brace, she would be unable to walk again. What she also did not know was that my sister–so certain of her schemes–had never even seen our parents' will. So what made her think the company had been left to her?

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.