Plot Twists Short Stories & Scumbag Fake Death Novels

My sister Emma and I were mated to the most powerful Alpha twins in the North—Evan and Lucas. After the marking ceremony, they spoiled us rotten. Every she-wolf in the Pack was jealous. But they didn't know that in my previous life, when I was five months pregnant and attacked by rogue wolves on my way to a prenatal checkup, my mate Evan was taking care of another sick she-wolf. I contacted Evan ten times through mind link, but he said impatiently: "Aria, how many more times are you going to play this trick? Sophia just had a premonition this morning that there would be no rogue wolf attack today! Sophia has already coughed up blood from overusing her precognitive abilities! As the Luna, you're not helping, and instead you're here being jealous?" Sophia was a she-wolf that he and Lucas rescued three months ago while patrolling the border. She was delicate and pitiful, claiming she could foresee the future. Soon, she successfully warned of several small-scale attacks. Evan and Lucas treated her like a treasure, doting on her. My sister Emma saw this scene on her way to pick up her three-year-old nephew Noah from school. She rushed forward without hesitation to save me. She and Noah begged Lucas for help, but Lucas was even colder: "You two sisters are really something. It's bad enough you conspired to put on a show to force us to come home, but you even taught a three-year-old child to lie!" Finally, the rogue wolf pack caught up with us. Three-year-old Noah was brutally bitten to death, and my child was ripped from my womb. When I opened my eyes again, Emma and I were back an hour before the rogue wolf attack. This time, Emma and I had only one thought: to sever the mate bond.

The day I find out I'm pregnant, I also discover my husband is cheating on me. To think that Brock Emerson, a celebrated OB-GYN, is sleeping with his own protegee, Wendy Blair! I strip Wendy's clothes off in front of the entire hospital, humiliating her for everyone to see. After that, the staff group chat turns into a daily betting pool on whether I'll show up to cause another scene. When Brock pulls me off the balcony railing yet again, he drops to his knees. "I've already had Wendy transferred. What happened that day was just an accident. You're all I care about." I give Brock two choices—either he sends Wendy to prison, or he signs the divorce papers. He personally submits evidence of Wendy's medical malpractice and chooses to stay. From then on, every year on the anniversary, I visit Wendy in prison to ease my grief over losing my child. On one of those visits, as I sign the log on my way out, I overhear two janitors talking. "That poor woman still hasn't figured out it's not really Wendy in there. It's just some actress they hired as a look-alike." "Dr. Emerson was scared she'd lose it again and hurt Dr. Blair, so he paid to build a whole fake prison wing just to keep her fooled. He and Dr. Blair are the real thing." "I heard their baby turned one today, and the whole family's celebrating together. They couldn't be happier." My blood runs cold. I can't believe what I'm hearing. The whole time I think we're starting fresh, Brock already has another family.

After the car accident, one of the Johnson sons was dead and the other gravely injured. When my devout, devoted husband woke up in the hospital, he called out, "Dorothy." He claimed that his body then held the soul of his brother, Elias Johnson. I went mad, calling doctors, priests, anyone I could, desperate to bring my husband back. It was not until that night that I overheard his conversation with our son: "Father, you've loved aunt for years. You even kept yourself chaste in your private prayer room, waiting. Now, finally, you can be with her openly." The man in the bed reached out to stroke our son's hair. "If it weren't to stop your mother from destroying her relationship, I wouldn't have married her." I hid in the shadows, still reeling from their words, when I saw what happened after our son left. The husband I had always known, icy, composed, and ascetic to maintain his devout faith for seven years, was then holding his sister-in-law close on that tiny hospital bed, sharing a warmth meant for lovers. The next day, I applied for Jim Johnson's death certificate and burned our marriage certificate. At his grand wedding, I climbed aboard the helicopter sent to fetch me. However, my once-cold husband went mad, chasing after us down several streets, desperate and unhinged.

My brother was dying. He needed an operation. So I finally took the deal from my boyfriend's father, the Don. A million dollars to leave Rocco Valeriano, the sole heir to the Valeriano family. It drove Rocco mad. After a family war, he was covered in blood. Refused any treatment. Until his father had no choice but to bring me back. Rocco lay in that hospital bed, a gun to his own head. His eyes were dark with obsession, yet full of love. He threatened desperately, "Ava. Marry me, or I die right here." He forced my hand. He got what he wanted. But on our wedding night, he didn't say a word. He just tore my clothes off and took me with a punishing force. When it was over, he grabbed my chin. He spat, "Gold digger. You'd do anything for money, right? Well, from now on, you get nothing." Five years of marriage. He had mistresses everywhere, all of them dripping in jewels. As for me, I was the Donna in name only. My credit cards were frozen. I needed his approval just to buy a coffee. Then my brother's illness came back. I begged him for a five-grand advance to save his life. I begged him all night at his private club. He gave me ten dollars. And a sneer. He mocked, "A woman who betrayed me for money. This is all you're worth." I clutched that ten-dollar bill and cried next to my brother's corpse until I couldn't breathe. Meanwhile, Rocco was spending a fortune on a birthday party for his new girl. When I woke up, I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I just found him, perfectly calm, and threw the divorce papers in his face. He gave a scornful laugh. He scoffed, "You want a divorce over five grand, Ava? Seriously?"

When a turbulence strikes an airplane that's tens of thousands of miles above ground, the pilot, Kevin Glover, uses the opportunity to confess his love for the co-pilot, Serena Burke. Both of them come clean about their feelings for each other, not knowing that Kevin's wife, Henley Johnstone is on the plane as well. The brimming affection in Kevin's tone hurts her ears. "Serena, I'll marry you." At the same time, Henley's son, Isaac Glover, who sits in the row in front of her, pipes up in a disgusted tone, "My mom isn't worthy of remaining as my mom. I want Serena to be my mom instead." Henley feels crushed and defeated. Sorrow overwhelms her senses as well. Once the plane overcomes the crisis and lands on the tarmac, she calls her assistant, Edith Pratt. "I want to sign up as the test subject of the death-faking pill. I don't want my husband and son anymore." Henley sets the date of her death on her wedding anniversary. Once all preparations are done, she takes the death-faking pill. When she wakes up, she'll embrace her new life. Some time later, when Kevin finds out about Henley's death, he wails like a madman.

On the day of my wedding, I had just discovered I was pregnant when news of Gavin Holt's death reached me. I wept until my eyes were swollen, yet still clung to his portrait and insisted on completing the ceremony. The very next day, his twin brother Sebastian Holt, came with Charlotte Evans, to break off the marriage on behalf of his brother. "My brother said before he died that Charlotte was his one true love. If she cannot enter the Holt family, he'll never rest in peace!" Taking advantage of the fact I had no family to back me up, Sebastian shamelessly brought Charlotte into my bridal chamber and slept with her. Their moans and gasps filled the room. On the very first day of my marriage, I was humiliated by my own brother-in-law and turned into a laughingstock for the entire city. Then, by chance, I overheard their conversation. "Gavin, you lied to Emily, told her you were dead. What if she finds out?" "She's so foolish. Even now, she mourns my 'death' with blind devotion. Once she gives birth to the child, we'll drive her out of the Holt family." Only then did I learn the truth that the one who had died in that car accident wasn't Gavin at all, but his twin brother! Later, I chose to end the pregnancy and leave. Yet he went mad, begging me to return.

I was on my way to pick up my son from school when I got a call from his teacher. “Mrs. Corleone, you don’t need to come. Your husband — the one who’s been missing for five years — just picked up your son from school.” My chest tightened with unease, and I quickly corrected her. “Teacher, you must be mistaken. My boy's dad in Sicily on business. Where is this ‘other husband’ coming from?” After a short pause on the phone, the teacher spoke again. “Mr. Corleone said you don’t have to lie. He said he won’t kick you out of the Corleone family, since you gave him a son after you ran away from the wedding.” “You only have to give your position as his wife to the woman who saved his life.” I rolled my eyes. Deliberately raising my voice, I sent a voice message to his uncle. “Darling, come home immediately! Your nephew is back and trying to take our son!” Then I heard a crash on the other end.

I'd been married to Aurelio Moretti, the most powerful Don in Italy, for five years, and his lovers outnumbered the guns we ran through our underground deals. But I no longer got angry, because we'd signed a contract when we got married. The first clause said I had to respect Aurelio's private life. No interfering, no scenes, or I'd face the consequences. I'd already learned what breaking it would cost me. My father, Lorenzo Silvestri, lost the funding for his treatment and was thrown out of the hospital. After that, whenever he brought a lover home, I handed him the condoms myself. So when Aurelio announced he was going to marry Marilyn Shaw, his young lover, I smiled and clapped. His men all said Aurelio had finally tamed me, the thorniest rose Italy had ever seen. Only I knew that wasn't true. I was just getting ready to leave for good.

After confessing 101 times to my childhood sweetheart, Morgan Lambert, he marries his first love, Cassandra White. With my heart in ruins, I leave him behind and marry his younger brother, James Lambert, who has pursued me relentlessly from the start. After marriage, James dotes on me to an extreme. His love is bold and intense. Everyone says I am unbelievably lucky to have married such a devoted man. As Cassandra and I sink into the water together, I can only watch as James dives in recklessly. He struggles through the water toward her, giving her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I thrash and struggle in desperation, begging him to look at me even once. He never does. His entire focus is on getting her to shore, leaving me behind to be swallowed by the sea. While I am unconscious, I hear him and Morgan fighting violently in the hospital, arguing over who gets to stay by Cassandra's bedside. He roars in anguish, "I sacrificed myself by marrying Elsa so she wouldn't stand in the way of you and Cassie's happiness. Can you at least let me see Cassie once?" That is when I finally understand that none of them has ever loved me. I immediately arrange to fake my death, preparing to vanish from their lives completely. Yet after hearing the news of my so-called death, James—who's always calm—loses control. He pushes Cassandra aside, bends over, and coughs up blood. Overnight, he seems to age decades.

Just days before our wedding, I was told that my fiancé, Matteo Ferrara, had died in a car crash. The car had been completely destroyed. The only thing his men recovered was a bloodstained diamond tiara. His father, the Don, pressed a pistol to my forehead and growled, “If Matteo hadn't been rushing to give you the tiara he designed himself, he would still be alive!” His adopted older sister, Isabella Ferrara, was at the Don's feet, playing a video of Matteo's last words as he sank into the sea. “Don! Matteo's last wish was for Layla to live! Please don't kill her. Let him rest in peace.” So I was locked in the Ferrara family's punishment room and made to kneel for 72 straight hours. They didn't let me out until the fourth night. But Matteo's funeral was already over. I never even got to see him one last time. Numb with grief, I slipped into my wedding dress, swallowed poison, and made my way to the dock where Matteo had supposedly died. I'd just climbed over the railing when applause and whistles erupted behind me. Isabella rushed over, practically jumping for joy. “I won, Matteo!” The crowd parted. Matteo stepped out of an armored car with a cashmere wrap. He ruffled Isabella's hair and gave a resigned sigh. “A bet's a bet. You wanted a dress just like Layla's, right? I'll have one made for you when we get back.” Only then did he look at me. He draped the wrap over my shoulders. “It's freezing out here, and you're soaked. You'll catch a cold.” Then he smiled. “Isabella was worried you only wanted to become the next Donna, that you didn't actually love me. So she came up with this little test. “Well, congratulations. You passed. Now let's go get married.” I stared at him, struggling to process what I'd just heard. None of it had been real. The fatal crash and the video of his last words as he sank into the sea were all part of Isabella's elaborate prank. Matteo had staked my life on their bet. A metallic taste filled my mouth. I struggled to steady my trembling body against the pain, then shook my head. “Call off the wedding. “I don't want to marry you anymore.”

Today was the seventh anniversary of the plane crash that took my twin sister, Chloe. My husband, Julian, checked the watch on his wrist and urged me on. “I’ve only blocked off ten minutes for this visit. Hurry up and lay the flowers.” He was a pathological stickler for time, meticulously managing every minute and second of his life. Shopping was sixty minutes, intimacy was fifteen minutes, and dinner was ten minutes… As he walked back to the car to grab an umbrella, his phone slipped from his hand, hit the ground, and lit up with a cloud calendar notification. It was his hidden master schedule for family. I stole a glance at it, and my blood instantly ran cold. The entry for me read, “Spend two hours.” And the very next entry ten minutes later read, “Cemetery visit ends. Head to the Southside residence immediately to pick up Chloe and our son for his toddler’s gym class.” I stared at my sister’s photo on the tombstone, finding it all ironic. So the past seven years, spent racing against the clock, were nothing more than an extreme time-management strategy Julian had devised for her while she was pretending to be dead. Julian walked back over under the umbrella. He picked up his phone and frowned. “Riley, your ten minutes are up. Stop dawdling.” Wiping the rainwater from the tombstone, I let out a liberated smile and said, “I'm not dawdling. It just struck me that Chloe must be having a wonderful time in hell. With the Devil and his demons keeping her company, I’m sure she’d never want to leave.”

When I hear my boyfriend, Terence Bowen, is trapped in a house fire, I immediately rush back to save him. However, after dragging him out with all my strength, I realize it's just a dummy. Laughter erupts from the house next door. "Ariana Brock is such a fool! She fell for it again!" Through a half-open window, I spot Terence lounging on the couch, casually scrolling through his phone. He looks completely fine. "That's the 47th prank we've pulled on her. Three more to go and we're done." "Serves her right. She shouldn't have stolen Bethany Howard's scholarship. Bethany is the one Terence actually cares about. That's why he decided to fake a relationship with Ariana to get revenge 50 times over. Too bad the game will end soon." I bend over, gasping for air. All this time, the relationship I've worked so hard to protect is nothing but a game to them.

After failing to win over the professor, I went back to my own world. But a year later, the system that made the deal with me came back in tears, begging me to return. It said my target—that cold-blooded psychology professor—was trying to destroy the entire world just to see me one more time. I said no. How could he lose his mind over losing me? His heart had always belonged to his stepsister Vivienne. For Vivienne's sake, he'd dropped me more times than I could count and left a trail of damage behind. Then the system sweetened the offer. Only three months. Come back, and when it was over, it would not only return my feelings but pay me a hundred million on top. So I went back to Sebastian with no emotions left to hurt. I stopped calling him Daddy and started calling him Professor. And somehow, that made him fall apart completely.

My husband, Don Axel Thorne, died protecting me in a mob war. I was his widow for six years, until I turned thirty. The old guard of the Family told me it was time to move on. My friends told me to let him go. Even in my dreams, his bloody hands would cup my face, begging me to live again. So I agreed to an arranged marriage. But first, I went to his grave for one last goodbye. I’d just left the cemetery when a post appeared in my feed. [Thanks, hubby, for the six-year anniversary gift! A fifty-million-dollar penthouse in Miami!] My blood ran cold. My hands shook. The phone nearly slipped from my grip. In the photo, the man I buried six years ago was slipping a massive diamond onto another woman's finger. The background was a lavish penthouse. His style. I put my people on it. We had the location in minutes. Drove straight there. I knocked, the door opened, and I froze. The woman standing there was Seraphina. His adoptive sister. The one the Family exiled six years ago for her obsession with him.

My wedding to Don Lorenzo Corsica was always 'almost.' Five years engaged. Thirty-two weddings. Every single one crashed and burned. Then came number thirty-three. Halfway through, the chapel wall caved in. I landed in the ICU. Skull fracture. Major concussion. A dozen critical alerts. Two months stuck between life and death. Then I clawed my way back. On discharge day, I caught him talking to his right-hand guy. "Don, if you're really into that scholarship girl, just dump Ms. Mortoro," the guy said. "Corsicas can kill gossip. No need for staged accidents... She nearly died." Lorenzo went quiet. Then finally, "I owed her parents. They died for me. Marrying her was the only way to repay that. But I love Sofia. She's the one I want." I looked down at my stitched-up body and cried without a sound. So it wasn't fate that wrecked me. It was him. If he couldn't choose, I'd do it for him.

At eight, I swallowed the Tear of the Abyss, hidden in the holy font by my grandmother. After that, my skin was like pearl. It would never age. She called it a curse. Left by the Sea God. Every year, on the Night of the Tides, someone had to prove they truly wanted me to stay—press a Golden Scale to my heart. Or the scales would tear through my skin. My legs would fuse into a tail. The tide would drag me back to the abyss before dawn—a mermaid, trapped beneath the waves forever. Before she died, Grandmother left three Golden Scales. She gave them to my fiancé Alaric, my brother Caspian, and my childhood friend, Crown Prince Lucian. Their promises were so easy. "Just a scale? We'd get you the stars if you asked." But on the Night of the Tides, I saw all three. Pinned to a brooch on Evelina, the orphan from the Sanctum. They said she'd suffered, never known love. The scales would soothe her "fragile soul." But me? A princess didn't need trinkets to know I was loved. She danced. "I'm the luckiest girl in the empire." I pushed through the crowd. I just needed one. Alaric grabbed my wrist. "Haven't I given you everything? Don't be selfish now." Caspian shot me a look. "Let the artist finish, then you can have them." I showed them my hand. Sharp scales were already breaking through the skin. Lucian touched them. Laughed. "Illusion magic? Seraphina, your pranks are getting old." They escorted her to the throne. In their eyes, my life-or-death curse was just a pathetic play for attention. The blood moon was setting. T he gills behind my ears tore through my flesh. Blinding agony. I finally understood. I was meant for the sea. The water is cold. But at least I won't have to beg to stay anymore.

My son, Leo Mancini, went missing in a fire 18 months ago. My husband, Enzo Mancini, held a funeral for him but would never let me see the body. When I kept asking where my child was, he said I needed rest. When I asked for a divorce, he refused to let me leave the estate. So I turned to the people closest to me for help. But one by one, those who promised to help me leave turned on me after watching a video my husband showed them and attacked me.