Nouvelles Scumbag Face Slapping & Romans

My billionaire dad chooses a husband for me. People claim that Sebastian Lambert is a fine gentleman who's absolutely in awe of me. He seems easy enough to deal with, so I agree to the marriage. The wedding is held at the biggest hotel my family owns. On the big day, as I push open the doors in my wedding dress, a bucket of foul-smelling blood comes crashing down on me. The scene inside is even more horrifying. What was supposed to be a pure and romantic ceremony is now decorated with giant spiders and cockroaches. Grotesque clown faces grin at me from the walls. At the altar, there's a black coffin. Sebastian's adoptive sister, Ruth Lambert, strolls over with a group of people. She covers her mouth in fake surprise as she remarks, "Oh my, Claudia, you look like a pathetic mutt right now!" Laughter erupts around me. Holding my anger back, I coldly reply, "All of you, get out." She crosses her arms, arrogantly looking down at me as if she's on some pedestal. "Come on, Claudia. Seb personally asked me to surprise you. I put in a lot of effort to decorate your little wedding. You're telling me to get out? I don't even get a 'thank you'? Do you need me to teach you some manners?" She signals to the people next to her, and two of them step forward, trying to force me to my knees. Stunned for a few seconds, I pull out my phone and call Sebastian. "Is this the so-called surprise you had your sister prepare for me? Forcing me to kneel before her?"

My husband's first love gets engaged. To make her regret it, he abandons me, his newlywed wife, and joins a research project down at the southern tip of the earth. I've made 999 attempts across several years to visit him, with each one ending in failure. After five years, I stopped going. During a lively birthday party, he suddenly shows up. When he sees my slightly bulging belly, he howls in anger. "I spent five years at the research base, and not once did you care about how I was doing! Who's the father of the bastard child you're pregnant with?" "It's none of your business," I calmly reply.

While we were scuba diving, my boyfriend, Raphael Carlisle, ripped off my oxygen mask and put it on his childhood friend, Lucia Fairchild, whose mask had started leaking. I was left thrashing helplessly in the freezing water. Just as I thought it was over, Raphael's younger brother, Gabriel Carlisle, swam over, breathed life into me, and brought me back to the surface. After he saved me, he presented me with the purple diamond ring he designed himself and proposed, "For as long as I live, I'll never let you face danger again." I believed that he was my one true love, so I married him, leaving my job behind to focus on starting a family. On the day Lucia was given a critical condition notice, I ended up in a car accident. As I lay half-conscious on the hospital bed, I overheard Gabriel talking with Raphael. "Get a doctor to induce labor right away! Lucia's illness can only be treated with a stem cell transplant from umbilical cord blood. The only reason I got Phoebe pregnant was for this very day." "But she's carrying our bloodline! How could you have someone hit her with a car?" Raphael yelled. Gabriel replied, "Lucy matters more to me! As for Phoebe, I can spoil her rotten once she wakes up." At that moment, I realized the love I held on to was nothing but a lie. If that was the case, I'd just leave.

After two years abroad in seclusion as I recovered, I received a selfie from my daughter, Lila Ashford. She was sitting on a bike, dressed in a work uniform. "Mom, you’ll be home soon, right? I miss you so much." My heart softened as I thought about how my girl had grown up. She understood that she needed to start from the bottom and work her way up. I was about to praise her when I noticed her skin seemed tanner, and her fitted shirt was the same one I’d bought her three years ago. It was frayed and worn thin, yet she still hadn’t thrown it away. As a child of the wealthiest family, Lila shouldn’t have to live like this, not even for "life experience". I zoomed in on the picture again. Her shoes were falling apart, the front gaping wide open. The more I looked, the more uneasy I became. The next second, I stumbled across Serena Ashford, my adopted daughter’s posts on social media. She was showing off male models, luxury cars, and on her wrist, the global limited-edition diamond bracelet I had given Lila. What shocked me most was the car that appeared in nearly every photo, the very one I had gifted Lila for her college graduation. How the hell had it ended up with her instead?!

Hilda Oakley, the charity case Mom and Dad take in, steals my family right out from under me. She slips drugs into me, driving me into a bipolar disorder. She turns me into someone who snaps and screams at Mom and Dad without meaning to. She paints me as someone rotten inside, as the bully at school, and as someone who'd shove her down the stairs at home. And because of that, my whole family turns on me. Mom calls me a bad seed. Dad says I'm no daughter of his. Then, they adopt Hilda and throw me out in the dead of winter. My bipolar flares. Naked, I sprint onto the rooftop and jump to my death. When I'm reborn, I realize I can make the thoughts in other people's heads audible. So, at the dinner table, I let Hilda's thoughts spill right before Mom and Dad. 'I kept that witch Valerie drugged for three years. She finally broke! They still don't suspect that Alex isn't really her brother. He's Susan's son. Once we poison Valerie's parents, the Coopers' fortune will belong to us.'

My grandma and I were on a perfect beach in Golden Bay. The sun warmed my skin, the sand was soft beneath my feet, and she was resting peacefully nearby. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my mind. A mind link. It was Brenda. Assistant to my mate, Gideon, the Alpha Heir. The image she sent was horrifying. An old woman in simple clothes, lying in a pool of her own blood. Deep gashes, down to the bone, from a silver-laced weapon. Brenda's voice echoed in my head, dripping with arrogance. “Cora, do you Omegas do anything but freeload?” “Gideon just bought this estate, and you’re already letting your pack-leeching relatives squat here? As the Alpha’s assistant, it's my duty to protect his land from trespassers.” “This is what happens when you trespass on an Alpha’s private property!” I froze. I looked over at the sun umbrella. My grandma, Maria, was napping peacefully. I replayed the image from the link. My blood ran cold. That face… bloody and broken, but I knew it. I would never mistake it. It wasn't my grandmother. It was Eleonora. Gideon’s grandmother. A rival pack had attacked her months ago. Her wolf was weakened. She was in a pack clinic. Her mind-link was damaged. She could only receive, not send. Today… she was supposed to come home. I pushed back against the link with all my strength. “Brenda, are you insane? Look who you hit! That's Eleonora! Gideon's grandmother!” Brenda cut the link. Her last words were cold and stupid. “Gideon made it clear. Your family is your problem. His family is his. He doesn’t claim trash like them.”

After guarding the nation's border for ten years, I return home only to see my younger sister, Piper Wright, being trampled under someone’s foot. "Where did this country bumpkin come from? How dare you show up at a place like this?" The man in a suit throws an invitation in her face. "Take a look at yourself. What do you think you are? My sister is Velda Mercer, the top socialite of Hyporion. If you offend me, I will have your whole family thrown into the river!" I smash his nose with a single punch. I help Piper to her feet and dial Velda's number. "Velda Mercer, if it were not for me back then, you would still be begging for food. How dare you bully my sister?"

I've gotten abandoned by my parents one week after my birth. In order to survive, I quickly call whoever picks me up "papa". The bigshots who are here for the gathering swap glances with each other. "Whose child is this? If no one wants her, then I'll adopt her." "Put her down! She called me 'papa' first!" Since then, I have 99 dads. Other than the fact that I have an extremely boisterous family, I make sure to keep to myself for the next dozen years or so. That is, until I get bullied during my high school times. Viola Mariani, the most popular girl in school, and her lackeys corner me in the washroom. Then, they start ripping my clothes off me. "So, you're the one seducing my boyfriend, hmm? Since you want to be a whore that badly, you might as well show everyone your nudes!" Since the beating I've received is a lot worse than I thought, I subconsciously shove Viola down the stairs just to protect myself. When I wake up in the infirmary, my teacher, Marianna Pagani, lashes out at me immediately. "So what if she berated you? Are you really going to kill her for that? I want you to call your parents here! I'd like to see who on earth is capable of raising an idiot like you!" Panic seizes me by the senses as I cry and plead to her, "Ms. Pagani, please don't tell my dad about this!"

Overnight, an electronic notification sounded in the minds of all office workers. It was from a "Performance-Share System". The rules: employees who paired off could split their year-end bonuses 50/50. I was a junior associate at Summit Financial, one of the biggest wealth management firms in Manhattan. In my previous life, I agreed to pair with my manager, Jared, and the intern he brought in — Stephanie. By the time the project went into its crunch phase, they'd shoved every garbage task and every blown deadline onto me. I pulled all-nighters for months. My body was running on fumes. When the one promotion that could have saved me came up, they cut me out of the team without a second thought. In the end I was fired for "burnout and poor performance." I couldn't make my mortgage. I jumped. They took the work I'd done with me, walked out with million-dollar bonuses each, and flew off on vacation together. Then I opened my eyes again. I was back, on the exact day the pair-binding system went live. This time, I'm not just keeping every cent of what I earn. This time, I'm putting them in prison.

At the wedding door games, my best friend, Justin Winston, suggests that my fiancee, Tiffany Bastion, feel everyone's abs while blindfolded so that she can guess who the groom actually is. Amid everyone's cheers, Tiffany gives every groomsman a nice feel before shaking her head firmly. "This is too easy! If I can't even recognize my own husband, we might as well call off the wedding!" When Tiffany is about to touch me, Justin suddenly flashes me a mysterious smile. Then, he takes off his shirt and moves to stand in front of her. The next moment, Tiffany shrieks excitedly, "This is my husband! I can't be wrong about this!" Justin lets out a chortle. Then, he grabs Tiffany by the wrist and begins navigating her hand from his abs down to his groin. "Why don't you give this a good feel? Do you still think this is your husband?" Tiffany just smiles bashfully as she roams her hands all over Justin's body. As I look at the pair's overly intimate actions, I sneer at them before stuffing the wedding bouquet into Justin's hands. "Since you two are in sync with each other that much, you might as well host this wedding on your own."

My cousin, Jeffrey Coleman, whom I haven't gotten in touch with for years, suddenly shows up on my doorstep. "Chris, if I remember correctly, you have a Toyota Crown parked in your garage, right? Lend it to me as my wedding car, alright? "We're cousins, so I'll pay you 500 dollars. Aren't I generous?" The Toyota Crown Jeffrey has mentioned is an original model from the 90s. It's still coated in the same paint it was produced in. My grandpa has left it to me. Over the years, I've already sunk in more than 100 thousand dollars just to renew every part. And now, Jeffrey thinks he gets to drive the car after paying me 500 measly dollars? I turn him down tactfully. "The car's far too old, Jeffrey. I'm worried that it might break down halfway to the wedding venue and cause a delay on your big day." Unexpectedly, the moment Jeffrey gets home, he's quick to issue everyone in the family group chat e-invitations. "I've already booked the wedding car! It's a Toyota Crown that's produced in the 90s, and it's still in its original glory! This car is definitely better than Porsche and Mercedes! "On the big day, this car will be in charge of picking up the bride and groom twice! Of course, the newlyweds get to ride this car. If there are any other relatives who want to share the ride, leave a message here!" Everyone is quick to praise Jeffrey for his quick wits. To think that he's capable of borrowing something vintage from the older generation! On Jeffrey's wedding day, he shows up outside my garage with a dozen or so people. "Open up, Chris! Where's the car key? We're in a hurry, you know!" Soon, the garage door is opened from the inside. The Toyota Crown isn't there. Instead, a police cruiser is parked in its place. A traffic officer can be seen crouching on the ground while taking photos for evidence. "You guys plan on driving the Toyota Crown? Someone has reported this car for not meeting the qualifications, and that it's suspected to be used in an illegal business. I'm going to need all of you to make a trip to the police station with me." Jeffrey panics immediately. "We didn't even get to drive it yet! How is this illegal?" The traffic officer glances up at him. "The report has included tens of hundreds of conversation screenshots. You've publicly posted the routes and even invited people to ride with you in the group chat. "Please explain to me what your actions mean, if not advertising your ride to get more customers."

I spent three years studying like my life depended on it before I finally earned a government job. Then, on my first week there, I saw a familiar face. My cousin. The same cousin I’d met at that awkward family reunion back home. Somehow, he had gotten hired by the same department. A few days later, at a family dinner, he made his move. With my uncle sitting right there at the head of the table, acting every bit like the important city official he was, my cousin shoved a classified file into my hands. The pages had clearly been tampered with. Before I could say a word, he let out a sharp cry and dropped to the floor. The file spilled open across the tile. “Ethan!” he shouted, his voice trembling with fake disbelief. “That’s confidential government material! How could you steal it and show it to outsiders? Was the finder’s fee really worth selling us out?” My uncle slammed his hand on the table and stood up, his face dark with rage. He said he would not protect family at the cost of justice. He said he would fire me on the spot and report me to the higher-ups himself. That was when a string of floating comments appeared in front of my eyes. [This cousin is painfully stupid. Does he seriously not know the male lead was brought in from above as the head of the internal inspection team? He’s here to investigate him.] [And the uncle is still acting. Hilarious. The inspection team’s car is literally about to pull up outside.] I read the comments, then calmly lifted my teacup and took a slow sip. Across from me, my cousin was still trying to look loyal and outraged. I set the cup down and smiled. “You’re right about one thing. This file is confidential.” His eyes lit up. Then I added, “But you changed the wrong section.” The color drained from his face. I turned to my uncle. “And Uncle, didn’t you just say you’d put justice before family?” I pushed back my chair and stood. “Great. Then come with me to the Special Investigations Unit and explain how many people you’ve illegally helped into the department over the years.” My cousin stared at me, completely stunned. He had fought so hard to get into public service. He had no idea I was the one sent to clean it up.

Ten minutes before the IPO, my lower body started burning with intense pain. The pain was so bad that my knees buckled and I fell from the stairs on the third floor. I hit my forehead, which started bleeding, and fresh blood dripped into my eyes. As I convulsed on the ground, my hands covered my crotch as my skin felt like it was being fried in boiling oil. My fiancée, Yvette James, came over in her high heels and kicked me in the thigh. "What's with all the pretense? It's just half a bottle of ointment poured down your pants." Her bestie, Henry Curtis, had his phone held toward me as he livestreamed the situation. He was bent over from laughing too hard. "Check this out, fam! This penniless loser is burning from the waist down! It's too funny!" I could hardly breathe from the pain, and I begged Yvette to get me an ambulance. Yvette rolled her eyes and pushed the camera into my face. "Henry is targeting 100,000 viewers for this live stream! Can you scream louder? Don't be a buzzkill! That thing between your legs is just like a toothpick. That ointment might give you a growth spurt, so you should thank me for it." My lower body had gone numb from the pain, and I saw the comments section ridiculing me. I stopped begging for help as I stared coldly at Yvette while giving the orders to pull her funds. "The wedding is off. Be prepared for your company's bankruptcy."

The final race would decide everything: win, and I'd make the national team; lose, and I'd be kicked off the racing team. Twenty-eight years ago, my father was crippled by the same man. His spine was broken, and he never stood again. Two hours before the race, I saw him crouching beside my car with my own eyes. When I went over to check, I found the brake line had been cut and the brake fluid had been mixed with alcohol. The method was exactly the same. My father had waited in his wheelchair for twenty-eight years. I crouched down and stared at the severed brake line for a long time. Then I stood up, wiped away the fingerprints, and put on my helmet. I didn't report it. I didn't change cars. I didn't tell anyone. Because I wanted him to watch with his own eyes— To see how he'd be sent to hell by the "loser" he despised. The engines roared. The green light came on. I released the brake and floored the throttle. The moment I shot forward, I knew— This car's brakes wouldn't last past the seventh lap.

At a highway service area, the man parked in the next space points under his van and shouts that it's leaking fuel and is about to explode. I am a veteran auto mechanic with ten years of experience. Without hesitation, I slide under the vehicle and, within ten seconds, clamp off the fuel line. The moment I crawl back out, I catch the smell of mineral water. The owner, Billy Dickson, immediately pulls out his phone and starts a livestream while several of his accomplices pin me against the hood. "Watch this, everyone! We set the perfect trap and caught a gang of catalytic converter thieves! See how smoothly he got under the chassis? He's obviously a repeat offender. Every missing part at this service area has to be his doing!" Covered in dirt and grease, I try to explain to the crowd that I only cut the line because I thought the vehicle was about to catch fire and endanger everyone nearby. Billy spits a thick wad of phlegm right onto my shoe. "Who asked you to stick your nose into my business? You crawled under my van because you wanted to steal parts! Either you pay for a brand-new vehicle today, or I'll hand you over to the police and make sure you rot in prison!" Not wanting to delay getting my wife, who's about to go into labor, to the hospital, I grit my teeth and transfer them 20,000 dollars to settle the matter privately. Three days later, on a long downhill stretch of a winding mountain road, Billy's van completely loses its brakes. Black smoke pours from the tires. He recognizes my car and frantically blares the horn. Rolling down his window, he begs me to tell him how to survive. I simply press down on the accelerator and widen the distance between us, my face completely expressionless. "Back for another livestream to chase views? Give me a break. To prove I'm not a car thief, I already threw my wrenches into the river. You'll have to figure out for yourself how to jump out of the van."

The study-abroad list went up on the department bulletin board. Kevin's name sat at the top of the sponsored students column. Mine was stuck in the alternate slot. In front of the whole class, he waved it off like it was nothing. "I'm not going. Can't even afford it." The spot slid down to me. "Congrats, Nathan! You snagged the last public-funded spot!" Classmates crowded around to offer their congratulations. My advisor turned to my parents with a clasped-hand gesture. "Professor Reed, Professor Turner—congratulations! You must be so proud of your boy!" I took the acceptance letter, my chest swelling as I looked at three years of blood, sweat, and late nights finally paying off. Then my mom reached over, plucked it right out of my hands, and passed it straight to Kevin. She grabbed my arm, her face all twisted up with regret. "Kevin's the kid we sponsor—his parents can't afford to send him anywhere. This is his one shot to go abroad. You're our flesh and blood. You need to be the bigger person here and let him have it." Kevin clutched the letter, dropped to his knees with a thud, and thanked her. I stared at that letter—the one that decided my future—and thought about every single night I'd pulled all-nighters over the last three years. They handed my future over to someone else. Fine. If that's how they want to play it, then I don't want this family anymore.

I was in the middle of a shift when my coworker, Denise Sutton, popped up out of nowhere and slapped me on the shoulder. "Next week is Gerald's birthday, and your family happens to run a seafood restaurant. So here's the plan — I'll chip in ninety-nine dollars, and we'll all go over to your place for a feast to celebrate." Denise counted off the menu on her fingers. "We need lobster and king crab, the fish has to be live-caught grouper, don't skimp on the appetizers, and stock up on beer and soda. Gerald's got gout, so go easy on the shellfish for him. Make sure everything's perfect — don't embarrass our department." She gave me a playful nudge, waggling her eyebrows. "Once Gerald's happy, he'll cut you a bonus worth a few thousand. Won't that make you happy?" "You get paid, you get noticed, and the boss ends up in a good mood. Amy, you'd better be properly grateful to me." I just stared at her, baffled. My family ran a breakfast counter that sold meat pies. Where exactly was the seafood supposed to come from? I turned Denise down flat. Denise just rolled her eyes and walked off. That night, a sign-up thread went out in the work group chat. "Gerald's birthday party is Saturday. I'm treating everyone to a seafood feast, all you can eat, and you can bring family. Reply if you're coming!" The chat erupted in cheers. In under ten minutes, more than fifty people had signed up. [My dad's never even had lobster. Guess he's finally getting cultured, thanks to Denise!] [My kid's obsessed with tuna. Get extra servings for her.] Denise agreed to everything without hesitation, dropped a location pin in the chat, and sent me ninety-nine dollars. Denise: [Amy, hold onto the money. The ingredients better be fresh — don't you dare shortchange your own coworkers.] I looked at the pinned location and smiled. It was the upscale seafood restaurant next door to my family's shop — owned by a man who'd gone straight a few years back after a rougher life, with tattoos running all the way up to his chin. The last person who'd tried to dine and dash there still hadn't gotten out of bed.

At the supermarket checkout, I pulled up my e-wallet. The system froze. While I waited, I shoved the bottled water into a bag. "Miss!" the cashier yelled. "You didn't pay. Trying to steal?" Every head turned. Before I could say a word, my phone rang. "Dr. Andersen, a family of three got hit by a truck. Metal debris went through their chests. You're the only one who can operate!" Owen sounded freaked. I hung up and slapped a ten on the counter. "I'm sorry, but I have an emergency operation waiting. I need to go. Can I pay cash?" "No." She tossed the bill aside and gave me a once-over. "You? A doctor? Yeah, right. "You're not going anywhere until the system's back up." My phone kept buzzing in my pocket. "I don't want it anymore." I dropped the bottled water on the counter and turned to leave. Click. The cashier locked the exit gate. Then she faced the crowd. "She broke the checkout system, and now she's trying to run! Don't let her get away! "Everyone, stay calm. Security and the technician will be here any second." Whispers broke out around me. The smug look in her eyes made my blood boil.

When I touch someone else's personal belongings—things they have had direct contact with before—I can hear the items voicing their owner's thoughts. The day of my grandma's funeral, I clutch the emerald bracelet she wore for over 30 years and hear it shout, "The house mustn't go to Michael! He hit me!" Michael? That's my uncle's name, and right now, he's bawling his eyes out in front of Grandma's casket, seemingly grieving even harder than everyone else.

I am the only princess of Hawkridge. The moment the Skyveil opened, every ruler in the known world started looking at me strangely. "Mara, come back to Frostmoor with me." King Ronan Blackwood stood with a cold blade in hand, his eyes rimmed red. "You swindled three shiploads of gold out of me. How exactly do you plan to repay it?" King Sebastian Redfield advanced on me, working the counters on his counting board. "You even lied about dying..." Crown Prince Adrian Locke coughed blood as he clamped a hand around my wrist. My skin crawled. I tightened my grip on the treasury sigil I'd just lifted out of a hidden drawer and got ready to run. Then the door closed with maddening calm. Regent Elias Crowell blocked me inside his study, his expression cool and his gaze sharp as a knife. "Your Highness." "Your romantic debts out there are nearly settled. Now let's settle the account for what you stole from me."