Scumbag Plot Twists-Kurzgeschichten & -Kurzromane

Two years after we marry, my husband moves his sister and her family into our marital home. The four of them settle down and refuse to leave. So, I quit both my jobs. I laze around at home all day and splurge on various things. I have so many parcels delivered that they pile up by the door. Occasionally, I ask my husband and his sister for allowance. When the management office sends someone to chase for our maintenance fee, my husband breaks down so loudly that everyone in the building can hear him. He asks me whether I've lost my mind—who will support the family if I don't work? How will we survive without money? Am I going to allow our family to starve? So, it turns out he does know that we'll starve without anyone generating income. Why does he and his sister stay at home and plot to take away all my money, then?

When my neighbor's daughter-in-law falls pregnant, my neighbor issues a few "decrees" in a group chat for all residents in the area. "Number 1: Anyone whose family has daughters has to avoid leaving the house when my daughter-in-law does. I don't want them to hurt my grandson! "Number 2: Every family has to purchase meat and expensive fruits once a week and present them to my daughter-in-law! "Number 3: After my grandson is born, I will bestow upon everyone the honor to bask in his fortune. Every family has to give us 300 dollars as a gift. I will personally visit each family that doesn't!" She even singles me out with a message. "Unit 401, I want you to immediately stop feeding stray cats. I'll also give you three days to get rid of your cat! My daughter-in-law is scared of cats, and the creatures are covered in germs. What if she catches a virus from your cat when she goes downstairs for a walk? What if you hurt my grandson? "I command you to immediately bring me one thousand dollars as a deposit and guarantee. If I catch you feeding stray cats one more time, I'll confiscate the money!" I transfer 20 thousand dollars to her, yet she grovels at my feet and begs me to take the money back.

Just because I left a window cracked for half an hour, my younger brother caught a cold and ran a raging fever in the middle of the night. Enraged, Mom locked me inside a freezing, thirty-below cellar. "How on earth did I give birth to a cold-blooded monster like you?! You won't be happy until you've killed your own brother, will you?! Since you love the cold so much, get your butt down there and cool off!" Down in the dark, I sobbed and begged Mom for mercy, but the biting cold slowly drained every bit of warmth from my body. Mom didn't care in the slightest. "I'm starving you for three whole days to teach you a lesson! This is what you get for being a jealous brat!" My brother's fever broke the very next morning. To make it up to him, Mom took him on a three-day trip to an amusement park. When Mom finally came back, standing at the top of the cellar to demand if I had learned my lesson, all she received was endless, deafening silence. Because I had already been dead for three days.

After my husband died in a car accident, I worked tirelessly running a small restaurant to raise my son, Henry. Right before Henry's wedding, I won eight million in the lottery. Thrilled, I decided to sell the restaurant and finally enjoy retirement. So, I called to tell Henry about selling the restaurant, his usually polite fiancée turned hostile. "You're not expecting us to support you, are you? We've barely started working!" She even warned Henry, "If you spend any of our money on your mom, the wedding's off!" Henry argued with her but then reassured me, promising, "You've worked hard enough, Mom. I'll take care of you." Feeling pretty good, I planned to give him two million to start a business. The next day, I got a call saying Henry had been in a serious car accident and urgently needed fifty thousand for surgery. I sent the money immediately, but afterward, Henry vanished. Desperate, I braved a storm to find him in his city, only to walk into a wedding at some fancy hotel. There's Henry, giving a toast and calling another woman "Mom." And, oh, sitting beside her? My "dead" husband from ten years ago.

I discover that I'm a homewrecker after dating my boyfriend for a decade. We're looking at marital homes when his wife seeks me out. She beats me up in public and rips my hair out, yet all he does is hurry to her after I've pushed her to the floor. Why? Because she's pregnant. Later, he gets a divorce and begs me to marry him. "I'm begging you, Madison. Forgive me this once."

I was the biological son the Rhodes family had spent years searching for. Upon our reunion, all I wanted was to feel accepted. I learned to agree with everything they asked of me, no matter how unreasonable it sounded. Whenever they gave me an order, I followed it. I never questioned them. One afternoon, Reagan Rhodes, the boy who had lived as the Rhodes family's son in my absence, glanced at me and snarled in disgust. "You smell awful. Why don't you get inside the sterilization chamber and disinfect yourself?" I turned toward the industrial machine without hesitation. I stepped inside the chamber, closed the door behind me, and started the machine. My mom discovered me before it was too late. In a panic, she forced the door open and pulled me out herself. My entire body was burning, and my skin had turned an alarming shade of red. Jasmin Rhodes, my older sister, showed no sympathy when she saw me. Instead, she was visibly irritated. "Who are you trying to fool with this act? If you're serious about dying, just take an entire bottle of sleeping pills." I remembered every word. That night, I found a bottle of sleeping pills and swallowed it whole. Jasmin eventually kicked open my bedroom door. By then, I was no longer breathing. She stood frozen beside the bed, staring at my cold body while her hands shook uncontrollably. Some time later, Reagan slipped and scraped his leg. It was a minor injury, yet Jasmin immediately lost her temper with me. "If that leaves a scar on Reagan's leg, you'd better be ready to cut a piece of flesh off your own thigh to make up for it!" I grabbed a shard of broken glass nearby, pressed its sharp edge against my thigh, and cut into my flesh. My parents rushed inside moments later, screaming in horror at the sight of this. Jasmin threw herself at me and snatched the glass shard from my hand before I could continue. "I spoke in a fit of anger! I didn't actually mean it! Why would you even listen to me?" None of them understood what seven years in the mountains had done to me. Back then, defying an order never meant getting scolded or losing a few privileges. Disobedience had only one consequence: death.

My family goes bankrupt when I'm ten years old. Just like that, I become a fallen heir overnight. Instead of letting me struggle, my dad, Steven Hollister, raises me with even greater care. He insists that I'm the family's only hope. I spend the next eight years living like a porcelain doll. My skin can't have so much as a scratch. Every meal is measured down to the last calorie. I'm forbidden from taking gym class or touching anything sharp. If I come home with even the smallest cut or scrape, Dad berates me for days. My younger brother, Michael Hollister, on the other hand, is given complete freedom. He skips school and gets into fights. Dad barely gives him a second glance. "He'll never amount to anything," he says with a dismissive wave. "This family is counting on you." On my 18th birthday, Dad excitedly announces that the company is finally going to recover and that we'll be rich again. He throws me an extravagant birthday party, but the guest of honor is a young man about my age seated at the head of the table. During dinner, the stranger openly sizes me up from head to toe before nodding in satisfaction. I assume he's the investor who's about to save my family. That night, I happen to glance at Dad's phone just as the screen lights up. A notification shows a massive wire transfer. The payment note reads, "Final payment received. We'll deliver the goods as scheduled."

After my husband's car accident, I did a checkup and found out he had a malignant brain tumor. Instead of telling him right away, I stuck the report in my bag, planning to wait for the right moment. Guess what? He found it first—and thought I was the one with the tumor. A few days later, I overheard him in his office, laughing with a buddy: "My wife? No looks, no figure, just money—and now she's got a brain tumor. Talk about a win for me. If Rainee hadn't gone abroad, I'd never have married her. Bad luck, huh? At least I dodged the kid bullet. Once she's gone, I get everything." Then he pulled the amnesia card, blamed it on the accident, and started treating Rainee like his wife. He even welcomed her into our house. I smiled and said, "Nathan, let's get a divorce."

After years of living abroad without children, I decided to return home to handle my inheritance matters. However, before I could step into my house, I was stopped by a group of people at the entrance. The woman leading the group pointed at me and started screaming. "I can't believe someone as young as you is seducing a man old enough to be your father! How disgusting can you be?" I watched her, noticing how much she resembled my older brother, and I was shaking with rage. They pulled out my fingernails, broke my ribs, and slashed my face, dragging me around the neighborhood as I begged for mercy. Yet, they remained indifferent to my pleas. Just as I was on the verge of losing hope, my brother, Edward Grange rushed over.  Through a mouthful of blood, I managed to choke out, "Ed, I’d rather die than let her inherit my inheritance…”

Jenny posted a picture of me and her brother, who had an intellectual disability. The caption? "Finally, a happy ending!" The comments were all the same: "Is this your sister-in-law? She’s gorgeous!" I simply replied with a question mark, but Jenny ignored me and responded to someone else instead. "She's kinda my sister-in-law, yes!" It didn't take long for Steven to call me, his tone full of anger. "It was just a little edit, do you really have to blow things out of proportion?" Half an hour later, Jenny posted another photo of her sitting in Steven's luxury car, and even tagged me in it. "We may not be related by blood, but this big brother of mine has always been my rock!" Steven commented. "I'll always be here." I knew he was trying to get a rise on me on purpose to appease Jenny, but I didn't grace them with a reply this time. All I did was like the post and file for divorce.

After falling head over heels for Joe Smith for three years, I finally got the proposal I had been waiting for. However, on the day of our wedding, he did not show up until the wee hours of the morning. When I found him, Joe was drinking happily with a young girl in his arms. “I’m already tired of her clinginess. She’s a joke. Who else would want her?” Much later, he made me a wedding ring and proposed with my favorite jasmine flowers. But a muscular man opened the door instead. The man had two scratch marks on his neck and smirked at the disheveled Joe. “Isn’t it a bit too shameless of you to propose to a married woman?”

It was the third Valentine's Day after our marriage. Samuel was complaining to his friends about me, "Noelle's very uptight. She's so boring in bed. It's like doing it with a blow-up doll. I'd never have married her if she wasn't rich." I went to a club and got a model with an eight-pack to please me. Enraged, Samuel demanded an explanation. I eyed him and snickered. "Look at you. You're so flabby. I'd never have married you if you weren't at least good-looking."

My nephew, Jason, came to live with my family for three years while he went to high school in the city. I took care of him the best I could, never once thinking it was a burden. The day he got accepted into a top-ranked university, he went live online. He told thousands of strangers about his miserable life living under someone else's roof. "I know I shouldn't say this, but I really suffered through it. "Those days of depending on others… I never want to think about them ever again. "I just want all parents to know this. No matter how poor you are, keep your kids with you. Even eating scraps together is better than watching another family of three enjoy a feast while you sit alone in the corner." He became an overnight sensation, so did I. The people on the internet dug up everything about me. My name, my job, my address. I was doxxed. I died depressed from the online bullying. However, I somehow got to do it all over again. This time, I was not going to be the saint anymore.

I'd spent six months saving every penny for prenatal care, but the money vanished overnight. Panicking, I called my fiancé, only to see him on another woman's social media. The man's busy silhouette radiated excitement, with a luxury handbag sitting at the edge of the photo. The caption read: "Mr. Wellington is such a gentleman! Today's happiness starts with snagging the last designer bag at the boutique~" When I came out of surgery, my furious fiancé finally showed up. His first words were an accusation. "Can you stop treating me like I'm on a leash?" "My friend was feeling down, so I bought her a bag and kept her company. What's wrong with that? Why are you so petty!"

I was only seven when my dad, Michael Carter, jumped into the river to save a drowning man. I was still playing in the sand on the riverbank. By the time a crowd had gathered and Dad was pulled from the water, his body had turned blue. He wasn't breathing. And the grown man Dad had risked his life to save? He swam back to shore on his own, shook off the water, muttered, "Just my luck," and walked away. Mom never smiled again after that. She worked three jobs to keep our family afloat. A year later, she collapsed from exhaustion at the textile mill and never woke up. Every spring, Grandma took me to visit their graves. She would cry and say the same thing every year. "If only I hadn't taken you to play by the river that day." Then I opened my eyes, and I was seven again. Dad was pulling off his jacket and tossing it to me. He pointed at the figure struggling in the river. "Stay right here, Mia. Dad's going to save him." The next second, I darted past him and jumped into the river. "Dad. "I can't swim."

After my third dive in search of my missing boyfriend, I suffer a miscarriage. When I wake up in the hospital and find out he's still alive, I rip out the IV and drag myself home. But as I approach the house, I overhear Beck Wilder talking to his friends. "Maren had a child with her ex-husband. Who knows if she's really over him? "I can't go through with the wedding without being sure. I'd rather set a trap to see if she'd risk everything for me." Someone hesitates. "What if she finds out you lied? She might get furious and leave you." Beck chuckles confidently. "She's a breeze to manipulate. I'll make her sign the marriage papers and host a lavish wedding. She'll be as meek as a kitten." Two weeks later, I leave the miscarriage report on the wedding dress and walk away. The once-proud heir of the Wilder family is left in tears, scouring every inch of Larkspur in desperate search of his runaway bride.

My nanny, Lucci Eyre, liked to call herself an independent, modern woman. She used to tell me every day to be self-reliant, do my own laundry and cooking, take care of the kids by myself, and even suggested that I divorce my husband. Later on, I found out that she was actually a social media influencer. Without asking for my permission, she made a series of videos trying to make me look pathetic as a Stepford wife. She also stole my jewelry and clothes. After I fired her, she accused me in the live stream of being a rival female competitor and pandering to men. Then one of her crazy fans tricked her way into my home and poisoned me. When I woke up again, I was reborn to the day I discovered that her social media account had millions of followers. ‘Since you're so into live streaming and making short videos, why not show everyone who you really are and let them see the independent woman that you are?’

I worked as a security guard at an upscale condo complex. One night, during my shift, I helped a drunk resident to the elevator. The next day, she went live with red-rimmed eyes and accused me of groping her. Within three hours, people tracked down my personal information and plastered it all over the internet. When Dad heard about it back in my hometown, he was so distraught that he suffered a stroke. He was rushed to the nearest hospital, but he didn't make it. I posted the security footage online to prove my innocence. The most-liked comment read, [Management edited this, right? Who knows what you did to her afterward?] I went to confront her, but as I crossed the street, a dump truck ran a red light and sent me flying. Just before I lost consciousness, a private message came through from her social media manager. [Crystal says she'll take down the video if you admit what you did and pay her compensation.] When I opened my eyes again, I was standing at the desk in the complex's gatehouse. It was one a.m., and the influencer wasn't home yet. She had accused me of groping her when all I did was help her. This time, I wouldn't lay a finger on her.

I was head over heels for Jonas Hayes, the cold and aloof scholarship student who saw me as nothing more than a walking wallet. He took my credit card but refused to let me get close. "Get lost. The sight of you and your filthy money makes me sick." Using my wealth, he showered Clara Dove, the stunning campus bella from a humble background, with luxury gifts and even threw her a lavish birthday party at the city’s most exclusive hotel. Everyone envied him, believing he was a self-made billionaire. But I didn’t care. I stayed hopelessly in love. After graduation, I poured my entire inheritance into building a life with him, convinced I could win his heart. During our honeymoon, he watched as I drowned, his voice ice-cold as he said, "Every time I think of how you used your money to control me, I wish you’d die sooner." When I woke up again, I was back in my college classroom—the day Jonas asked me to top up his card. This time, I wasn’t the desperate fool he remembered. I slapped him across the face with the card and sneered, "Even beggars know how to kneel and ask. What are you, a weed?"

Before a gathering of New York's underworld Families, I slipped into the vintage Chanel gown my mother had left me. As I looked in the mirror, my seven-year-old daughter suddenly said, "Mommy, it doesn't matter what you wear. You're always the ugliest one." Just like that, all the joy the gown had brought me disappeared. It wasn't the first time my daughter had said something cruel. Once, the FBI took me in for questioning and kept me for three days. The moment I got home, I wrapped her in my arms and asked if she'd missed me. She only shrugged. "No, Mommy. You're too stupid. Smart people don't get caught." My husband, Vincent, said sternly, "You can't talk to her like that. We're a family." I asked carefully, "If Mommy's so stupid, will you take care of me, sweetheart?" My daughter spread her hands. "Not me. Daddy said this family doesn't feed freeloaders." I was too stunned to speak. She just smiled at me, all innocence. "Don't be mad, Mommy. I'm only telling the truth." Every time she hurt me, she always added those same words. No matter how much it hurt, I kept telling myself she was simply too young to understand. That she didn't truly mean to hurt me. Until the day she smugly posted one of her "honest truths" on TikTok, hoping the whole internet would judge me. This time, she would regret telling the truth for the rest of her life.