Historias cortas de Male POV Romance y novelas ambientadas en Face Slapping

My in-laws were old-fashioned. They insisted that spending New Year's in their hometown was a must for a smooth year ahead. We could not get train tickets, so we decided to drive back. When my wife’s first love heard about it, he insisted on coming with us. He even brazenly took the front passenger seat from me. “Charles, I get carsick easily. I can only sit in the front.” Evan shot me a disdainful look. "It's just a seat. Why are you being so touchy?" “If you knew how to drive, would this even be an issue?” My in-laws chimed in as well. “You’re a grown man. Why are you making such a fuss over something so small?” Outnumbered, I had no choice but to squeeze into the back seat with my in-laws. Then, when we were passing a toll booth, Yvonne spotted a stray dog and was suddenly overcome with compassion. “That poor dog. Let’s bring it home with us.” I immediately objected, “The car is already full. If we bring a dog too, we’ll be over the limit. We won’t even be allowed on the road.” Before I had even finished speaking, Evan turned on me without hesitation. “Charles, in that case, why don’t you give up your seat for the dog? You can just take a cab back!”

Days before my wedding, I received a video of my fiancee, Alice Moore, being violated against her will. By the time I find her, she's covered in bruises, her body bare. She wails as she punches me in the chest, demanding to know why I didn't come to her sooner. She says her life has been ruined. As I hold her close, I make her a promise, saying that I would never scorn her. I even promise to give her 10% of my company shares as a wedding gift, hoping that it will put her at ease. Everyone says I've lost my mind for going to such lengths for a woman who has been sullied by another man. But then, I end up overhearing Alice giggling away with her friend in the bathroom. "That fool actually believed me and thought I'd been abducted. Cole and I went at it for three days in a row. I had the best time of my life! Oh, well. Since I can't marry Cole, my only option is to let him be the first man I take to bed before I get married." Miranda exclaims in shock, "What if Luke finds out about it? Aren't you afraid of that happening?" "He's a complete idiot. He even promised to give me his company shares as a wedding gift!" Alice retorted derisively. "There's no way he'd find out about this. I'm only marrying him because his family is one of the richest in the city. Otherwise, you couldn't even pay me to date him. Who would want a guy as boring as him?" I remain frozen outside the bathroom, feeling like I'd just taken a plunge into icy water. So be it, then. The wedding ceremony will proceed as scheduled, but I'll have to make some adjustments as to who the bride will be.

One day, I come across a post on the Internet. The original poster keeps boasting about the fact that all three children belonging to his older brother are actually his spawn. "The funniest thing is, there was once when he suspected the origins of his children. So, he got someone to take the children to take a paternity test. "Guess who he ordered? That's right—it's me, his most trusted younger brother! I get to sleep with his wife whenever I want. The money he earns all goes to my sons. This means he's working for me for the rest of his life! "Just the thought of that makes me happy to no end! Ahahaha!" But the thing is, I'm the older brother who's mentioned in the post.

For seven years, I've kept my identity hidden while secretly helping my girlfriend, Natasha Doyle, become one of the top designers in the world. A major design awards ceremony is being held tonight. My plan is to reveal my real identity and propose to her after she receives the award. But then, I see her walking up on stage, hand-in-hand with Connor Gibson, her partner in the design studio. "All of Natasha's accomplishments are the result of my hard work and effort," Connor proudly declares. Natasha smiles and nods in agreement. "Without him, I wouldn't be the person I am now." Thunderous applause rings from the crowd. The camera flashes keep going off. I stand in the corner, my heart in despair. As I walk out of the venue, I make a call. "Cut off all the funding and investments into Natasha's studio. Don't help her with the patent infringement lawsuit either. Let her deal with the legal consequences herself."

Following an army mission, I ended up spending three years in a coma. After regaining consciousness, I request a temporary leave from the hospital. I sneak over to the army base where my wife, Major Alicia Connor, is stationed. With my heart bursting with joy, I prepare to give her a surprise—only to spot her on the training grounds, cradled in the arms of another man while he does his squats. The newly recruited soldiers cheer them on, saying, "Kiss her! Kiss her!" I figure they're just joking around, but Alicia proceeds to kiss the man without any hesitation. Still clinging to hope, I tell the soldier on guard to tell Alicia to come out and see me. Instead, it's that man, Steven Greene, who shows up. He gets the other soldiers to press me in the mud, snarling menacingly, "He's the monster who kept stalking Alicia three years ago and took advantage of her when she was drunk!" He stomps on the bouquet of asters I bring with me, driving them into the mud as well. "How dare a scar-faced cripple like you set your sights on Alicia? She's the youngest female major in the history of the army! "I'm going to make it clear to you today that Alicia isn't someone a loser like you can get any ideas about!" Blood sputters from my mouth as they give me a good thrashing. The bones in my already injured leg split and fractured even more. But what Steven doesn't know is the fact that, without me, Alicia can't even remain in the army, let alone be a major.

My wife, Chelsea Sloane, has always been an avid user of computers when it comes to work. But one day, she suddenly falls in love with the idea of using pen and paper. In fact, she loves one particular black pen to the point that she refuses to let anyone touch it. Unable to endure her twisted obsession over that pen, I decide to bring up divorce before her on our wedding anniversary. Enraged, Chelsea points at me and yells, "Are you seriously getting a divorce over a pen?" I reply coolly, "Yup. It's precisely that."

During the school holidays, I took my daughter to a park. I had barely entered the park entrance with my daughter when a supercar crossed the solid line and rear-ended us. The man who jumped out came storming toward me, furious. "Do you even know how to drive? Do you know how much this car costs? You can't afford it even if you went bankrupt!" I was about to argue back since he was clearly the one breaking traffic rules. But I froze. That car looked painfully familiar. Wasn't that the supercar my mother gave me the first year I took over the Milton Group? Even the license plate was identical. My wife, Hazel Bishop, had told me the engine was broken and that she'd sent it to the dealership for repairs. I met the man's arrogant stare. "Is this car really yours?" He paused, then grinned smugly. "My wife bought it for me. It's limited-edition. Someone like you wouldn't understand. Go call your family and sell your house. You owe me 200 thousand dollars." Sneering, he added, "Don't try anything clever. My wife's the GM of Milton Group. She has serious connections. She'll be here any minute." I let out a cold laugh. So Hazel canceled on our daughter today, not because of a business meeting, but because she was out spending the holiday with her lover and his kid instead.

On the eve of our wedding, Olivia Smith tells me that she wants to attend a bachelorette party. Not wanting to disappoint her, I agree to let her go. I even tell her to not drink that much at the party. She leaves a kiss on my cheek bashfully and tells me that she will make me the happiest man tomorrow. But on the next day, I can't reach OIivia via phone at all. Instead, I notice a post her childhood friend, Aiden Jones, has uploaded to his Instagram feed. "Tomorrow, you'll become another man's wife. Please let me claim you one last time." There's a close-up photo of two people smushing their cheeks together. After putting down my phone quietly, I inform everyone that the wedding has been canceled.

Mom and I board a flight to Fangoria to visit Alicia Carter, my wife. She's a special forces soldier who's here on a peacekeeping mission in this foreign country. But the moment we walk out of the airport, we're ambushed by a group of kidnappers. One of them holds a gun to Mom's head and says, "If you don't give us the ransom in three days, we'll blow her head off!" In a panic, I make a video call to Alicia, my hands shaking as I beg her to help me. "Calm down, honey. I'll put in a request to lead a rescue mission. We'll save her within 24 hours!" But the next day, I keep failing to get in touch with Alicia. After I blow up her phone with multiple calls, one finally connects. Amid her rushed panting, she tells me, "Sorry, honey. I just got assigned to an urgent escort mission. You guys just hang in there. I've arranged for the local authorities to—" Her voice is abruptly cut off by a familiar male voice. "Alicia! Thank goodness you came over just to pick me up. I didn't have to spend 100 dollars on a cab after all! That cab driver didn't even have a license, and I can't believe he tried to ask for more money…" The three-day deadline passes, and the kidnappers keep their word, letting me hear the gunshot myself. As I clutch Mom's cold, dead body, Alicia calls me out of nowhere. "Hey, honey. I just completed the escort mission. How are things on your end? Have the kidnappers released her?" I look down at Mom. Her eyes will never open again. I gently wipe the blood off her face as I reply to Alicia in an eerily calm voice, "Yeah. They have."

Grandpa's dying wish is to see me get married, so I quickly call up my girlfriend, Roxanne Moore. However, she scoffs at me, saying, "Why do you keep trying to force me to marry you? Why are you so disgusting? How many times must I tell you that Sam is getting over a breakup right now? As his best friend, how can I make him feel even worse by suddenly getting married? "We'll discuss marriage once he has recovered from his broken heart. Anyway, I've got to go. I'm still on my business trip." The line goes dead, and so does my heart. I look up at Mom. "I'll marry the person you picked out for me."

I went to visit the set where my chaste fiancee, the award-winning actress Whitney Lockwood, was shooting her new movie. When I heard she was shooting a bed scene, I frowned but still agreed. However, her scene partner, a young actor named Yarden Stein, could not get into character. Whitney grew impatient. She said they should do it for real. I stopped her and said they could use a body double instead. She slapped me across the face and glared at me with teary eyes. “Yale, this movie is very important to me! I have to make sure it’s perfect! Or do you think my first time matters more than the career I love most?” In the next second, she tore off all her garments and climbed onto the young actor without hesitation. She turned to look at me. Her eyes were full of sorrow. “I’ll imagine Yarden is you. Then, it will be no different from being with you.” I watched them slowly prepare for the scene. I heard the clapboard snap as filming began. My face stayed blank as I made a phone call. “Blacklist Whitney and Yarden. Anyone who still hires them will be making an enemy of the Foster family.”

On the day of my 30th birthday, my CEO wife, Sabrina Langford, leaves hurriedly at 3:00 am. She claims that there's something urgent going on at the company and that she won't be home the whole day. Later on, Timothy Cross, the low-income university student that Sabrina has been sponsoring, updates his social media feed. In the photo, I see Sabrina standing at the side of the road in a bikini. Two big apples are balanced on her 36D bust. The caption of the photo is, "The beautiful and hot CEO has personally come over to my house to help me sell the homegrown apples. You'll regret it if you don't buy these apples from me!" My brows are drawn into a frown immediately. When I call Sabrina, the call goes through rather quickly. "I told you I'm very busy at the company right now. If you disturb me again, I'm not going to forgive you this easily!" After that, Sabrina ends the call. But right before the call gets cut off, I can hear a car honking in her background. I'm not mad at her at all. She likes helping others to sell fruits, right? I might as well lend her a helping hand. So, I share the social media post to the company's group chat. The message I've drafted is, "Does anyone here want a batch of rotten apples? I'll even throw in a second-hand wife for free."

On the day of my wedding, I waited on the stage for six long hours with the wedding ring in my hand. The bride never came. Instead, I was greeted with the sight of my older sister's bloodied corpse. To make things worse, my wife, Winona Graham, was the one who defended the murderer in the court. I demanded answers from Winona like a madman, only to be locked up in an oven that was toggled to 200 degrees Fahrenheit by her. "Are you done, Arthur? It's Annabelle's own fault that she died in the first place! This has nothing to do with Hudson at all! He has just started his life as a young adult, and I won't let you ruin his life! "Just sit here and reflect on yourself! The moment you decide to sign the Letter of Understanding is the moment I'll get someone here to free you from the oven!" After that, I was trapped in the oven for 12 hours, resulting in my death from getting burned alive. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day Winona throws the Letter of Understanding in my face.

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.

The day I got out of prison, my girlfriend—who I hadn't seen in five years—pulled up in a Maserati to pick me up. In the passenger seat sat a guy in his early twenties, athletic build. His face looked a little too much like mine did when I was younger. Selene told me not to make a scene. Not to want things that were never mine. She said with her status now, she could have as many pretty boys as she wanted. Right now, she only had one. Apparently, he was my replacement. So I shouldn't be so narrow-minded. After all, a guy like me—fresh out of prison with a record—wasn't even in her league anymore. I stared at Selene, a little dazed. She wasn't wrong. But she seemed to have forgotten why I went to prison in the first place.

Yvonne Larson, my housekeeper, has always been punctual, but she ends up being late today. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Carter. Dinner's not ready yet. I hope you won't mind. I had no choice. I waited for over half an hour, but no one got the door for me. I even called Mrs. Carter a few times, but she didn't take my calls. That's why I ended up running late." Halfway through changing into my house slippers, I pause and frown. "Yvonne, didn't Susanna give you the access card to the apartment?" Yvonne looks confused. "The access card? Mrs. Carter never gave me any card." "Never?" "That's right," Yvonne confirms timidly while wiping the sweat off her brow. "For the past month, I've always had to call Mrs. Carter and ask her to open the door for me. She wasn't picking up her phone today, so I had to wait outside…" That's strange. I've checked the logs before. The access card has been used multiple times throughout the past month.

My lawyer wife’s assistant got into trouble again. This time, he had been driving at nearly sixty miles an hour in a residential neighborhood and crashed into my seventy-year-old mother, sending her flying. My mother had gotten paralyzed from the accident after suffering fractures in dozens of places. She would be bedbound for the rest of her life. My wife represented her assistant in court again. She claimed that my mother had intentionally gotten in the path of her assistant’s vehicle to get compensation money, and that was how the crash happened. She pushed all the responsibility back on my mother. In the end, her assistant was pronounced innocent and released, while I had to pay him for damages. “Tyson, he’s just a twenty-five-year-old kid. He knows nothing. If he got sent to jail, his life would be ruined. Don’t pursue this with him.” After the lawsuit, the assistant rushed to make an online post. [My lawyer’s so gorgeous. She’s an angel of justice!] Florence liked the post right in front of me. Meanwhile, I stayed so calm it was scary. “Let’s get a divorce, Florence.”

Everyone said I was too possessive when it came to my girlfriend, Amanda Crane. When Amanda first started taking photos of her childhood friend, Ian Lewis, I ripped apart all the rolls of film. When she helped him fix his computer, I called her 100 times in an hour. And when he called her from the airport, asking her to pick him up because the rain made it impossible to get a cab, I held a knife to my throat. I told her I'd take my own life if she went to him. Fed up, Amanda shipped me off to a psychiatric hospital that same night. When I got out, I vanished. Amanda was certain I was hiding somewhere, spying on her and Ian, but I never showed up—until the celebration party for a business project three years later. Ian put his arm around Amanda and swirled the wine glass he was holding. He shot me a taunting look, remarking, "You used to get so jealous, Steven. I'm sure you no longer mind if Mandy and I drink from the same glass now, right?" He waited for me to go berserk the way I used to three years ago, but I simply moved the bottle of wine closer to them. "I don't mind at all, of course. Have as many glasses as you want. It's great to see that your relationship has been progressing so well." Amanda paused. Her eyes started to redden. She stared fixedly at me and questioned, "Why don't you feel jealous anymore, Steven?"

In the first year after marrying Victoria Kingsley, I choose to celebrate the holidays with her in her childhood home. At dinner, my mother-in-law suddenly claims that she's lost her gold bracelet. That's when Victoria's childhood friend, Jonathan Zane, points at me. "You must be the one who stole the bracelet! After all, you've been a serial pickpocket since you were young!" Everyone turns to stare at me, their gazes unkind. I thought Jonathan must have mistaken me for another person, so I tell everyone that I never stole the bracelet. But Jonathan continues confidently, "You were punished for stealing from others in high school all the time! Not to mention, I saw you at the police station last month! There's no way I'd have gotten the wrong guy!" Then, Jonathan lays down the details including the time, location, as well as the clothes I was wearing that day. All I feel is mixed feelings at the moment. The thing is, I was at the police station because I needed to obtain some evidence. After all, I'd already joined the judiciary a long time ago. Last month, I was even promoted to the presiding district court judge.

At midnight, the ER receives a pregnant patient with an extremely pale face, and she's convulsing violently at the same time. I lift her shirt on the spot so that I can diagnose her symptoms better. But my wife, Selena Carson, who also works as the head nurse, suddenly berates me angrily. "Do you have any idea that what you're doing is sexual harassment? Can't you spare the patient her pride? "Don't use your treatment as an excuse! I refuse to believe that there aren't any female doctors in the ER at all!" The patient's family members streamed the whole thing live. Soon, everyone was blasting me on the Internet. The hospital forces me to apologize to the pregnant patient. But I decide to tender my resignation the very next day. After all, the patient's disease has a frighteningly high chance of getting misdiagnosed, not to mention it's incredibly difficult to cure. In fact, no one but I can cure her once and for all.