Plot Twists 短篇故事與 Scumbag Regret 小說

All of New York knew that Caspian Solis, the Don of the Solis family, worshipped the ground I walked on. Then an ambush left him with amnesia. Not only did he forget me and our twenty years together, but he also mistook his secretary, Ivy, for the love of his life. He tossed our matching bracelets and stared at me with dead eyes. "You are not my type. Ivy is the woman I love." My heart shattered. I tried everything to help him remember. Until I overheard a conversation between him and his right-hand man: "Don, how long are you going to keep this up? What if your wife finds out you are faking the amnesia?" Caspian exhaled a cloud of cigar smoke, completely unbothered. "She won't." "I just want to have some fun while I am young. Eating the same meal every day gets stale, doesn't it?" "When I have had my fill, I will tell her my memory came back. After all, Lorelai is the one I truly love." Standing outside the door, I felt violently sick. A thought sparked in my mind: If Caspian could fake amnesia to play me, why couldn't I? So, I accidentally fell down a flight of stairs. When I woke up, I locked eyes with Caspian's ally and biggest rival—Zane, the most feared Don in New York. I smiled and threw myself into his arms. "There you are, darling."

I was preparing a gift for our six-year anniversary when my best friend sent me a photo of my Alpha boyfriend kissing another she-wolf. "Wait, when did you get to Chicago?" The she-wolf in the picture looked a lot like me, but it wasn't me. That's when I found out that my boyfriend of six years had been searching for replacements for his dead childhood sweetheart the whole time. I was number 5. The she-wolf in the photo was number 18. I rushed to Chicago and tracked down Lucas using his phone's location. "Dude, this number 18 really looks like Ally, even more than Sophia does!" "Nah man, Sophia still looks more like her. She's number 5 after all - if she didn't look so much like Ally, why would Lucas have stuck with her for six years?" Lucas flicked his cigarette ash, looking completely relaxed: "They both look pretty similar, but number 18's way better in bed. Sophia's too uptight." "I heard you had someone pick out a diamond ring. You planning to propose? To Sophia or this new chick?" Lucas leaned back into the couch with a cocky grin: "Haven't decided yet. Why don't you guys choose for me?" I turned around, my whole body shaking as a chill ran from my head to my toes. After calming down, I texted my best friend: "Your Alpha cousin, the one who had a crush on me and waited four years - is he still single?"

I am Nicholas Greene's assistant and also his secret girlfriend of ten years. At the age of 29, I bring up marriage with him. He responds coldly, "I can give you love, but I can’t give you marriage. If you are desperate to get married, I can introduce you to another man to deal with your parents." I accept calmly. A few months later, he stops me at the door. His eyes are bloodshot as he questions, "Didn’t I tell you to just pretend? How did you end up actually getting a marriage certificate with him?"

Before graduation, my boyfriend, Landon Freeman, my two childhood friends, Clyde Medina and Mason Rivera, my best friend, Willow Castillo, and I set out on one last road trip through the Northwest. We plan to complete the entire loop together. However, on the third day, one of our vehicles breaks down, leaving us with a four-seater. Without the slightest hesitation, Landon hands me a ticket for a six-hour bus ride. "You don't get carsick, so bear with it for a while. We'll wait for you at the next stop." Willow offers to take my place, but Clyde and Mason immediately stop her. "You just threw up yesterday. Why are you trying to be a hero?" Landon chuckles as he helps unload my luggage. "She's tough as nails, and she has never been one to hold a grudge." As usual, I agree. Yet, six hours later, I arrive at the small town we'd agreed to meet in, only to find out that they'd changed course at the last minute and gone to another city. In the group chat, the four of them are gathered around Willow, having a barbecue and beaming. Not a single one of them remembers to tell me. All of a sudden, I see the pattern I've been blind to all these years. Whenever Willow feels cold, three jackets are waiting for her. Whenever she's tired, everyone stops. Yet, the more sensible I am, the more they expect me to be the one who makes sacrifices. This time, I don't want to chase after them anymore. I buy a ticket back home and reach out to the out-of-town company that I turned down two weeks ago. "Hello. I'd like to accept the offer." I don't want this group of people who've been by my side for more than a decade anymore.

Sylvia Frost and Victor Rothwell's wedding had been postponed 33 times. This time, it happened on the night before the ceremony. She was struck by a car and left with 19 broken bones. She was rushed to the ICU three separate times before her condition finally stabilized. Once she was strong enough to leave her bed, she braced herself against the wall and shuffled into the hallway. As she reached the corner, she overheard her fiancé speaking with a friend. "Last time it was drowning. This time you used a car. That gets you another two months. What are you going to do next?" Sylvia's blood turned to ice. Victor stood there in his white coat, his phone turning slowly in his hand. "No more delays." His voice remained flat.

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.

Every Thanksgiving, my husband, Salvatore, brings home a showgirl from one of his clubs. He makes me kneel and serve them drinks. A lesson, he calls it, in how to please a man. This was the eighth Thanksgiving, and this time, he brought back a girl poured into a tight leather dress. "She doesn't have any decent jewelry," Salvatore announced. "Give her your heirloom diamond ring. Your grandmother's pearl earrings, too. And take off that silk choker for her." He smirked. "And listen, she's young, doesn't know the rules. You'll have to show her the ropes. Especially how to handle a man in bed." Every member of the Genovese family was watching, waiting for my humiliation. I didn't disappoint. I opened my mouth and asked Salvatore for a divorce. Salvatore let out a sharp, ugly laugh, his eyes full of contempt. "Francesca, you pull this same shit every time," he jeered. "Your act is pathetic. Even more dramatic than your performance in bed." He leaned in. "You really want to divorce me? Fine. I'll give you five million in cash if you actually walk out that door." The living room erupted in laughter. They all said I was playing hard to get, that I didn't know my place. But they didn't know. This was the 88th time I had asked for a divorce, and it was the first time I truly meant it.

Marie Hail had been groomed since childhood to be the perfect good girl. Every aspect of her life was tightly controlled. Her parents approved the colors she wore, forbade her from wearing skirts above the knee, and insisted she take small bites and chew each mouthful thoroughly. She was little more than a marionette, with her parents pulling the strings and dictating her every move. However, everything began to change when she turned eighteen and met Rylan Stafford, a boy who burst into her carefully controlled world like a blazing sun. Rylan had striking features, bright, lively eyes, and a wild, uninhibited laugh. More importantly, he was everything Marie had never dared to be. He took her on reckless motorcycle rides to the beach and drove her across the mountains to watch meteor showers. He even gave her a tattoo, a symbol of freedom inked onto her back. Through him, Marie discovered a world beyond the suffocating rules that had governed her life. As he encouraged her to challenge every restriction holding her back, she gradually found the courage to break free and embrace a passion she'd never known. Rylan was a living flame, and Marie willingly let herself be consumed by him. One day, he asked, "Princess, how about we turn in blank exam papers together during finals?"

In the sixth year of my relationship with Niklas Berg, he spent three hundred days a year in Inari, in northern Finland, doing fieldwork on Sámi culture and traditional crafts. I stayed behind in London, looking after his mother, Helena Berg, who had been bedridden since her stroke. The day I miscarried from sheer exhaustion, I was shaking all over with pain. I called him. Before I could say a word, he cut me off. "Signal's bad up here. The project's at a critical stage. Stop bothering me with every little thing at home." Then he hung up. I had always believed he was simply too consumed by his research to understand the needs of an ordinary relationship. That belief lasted until late one night, when I came across a promotional video for a Nordic traditional crafts exhibition on social media. In the video, Niklas, always so reserved and composed, was leaning down, fastening an heirloom silver brooch at the collar of a radiant young Sámi woman. The silver caught the light against her red-and-blue shawl, and his hands moved with such solemnity it looked like a ritual only the two of them understood. Someone off-camera teased him, asking if he planned to stay in the north forever. He looked at the girl, his voice low and tender. "Aila says this brooch is only given to the person she wants to share her life with. I'd gladly stay here for her." I closed the video. I didn't cry, and I didn't confront him. I simply signed the Helsinki transfer confirmation I should have signed long ago, then left my flat key and engagement ring behind in our home. His beliefs had never left room for me. So I would go and find a world of my own.

Everyone warned me never to fall for Dante Moretti. They said he was the ghost of the Velasco family—an underboss who ordered hits without blinking, his heart colder than the barrel of his gun. But when he bent me over that mahogany desk, his mouth against my ear commanding me to say his name, I was stupid enough to think that was possession. It took me an entire year to see the truth. The photographs locked in his study drawer were never of me. The woman in white waiting for him in the cathedral district on Sunday mornings was never me. The girl who took a bullet for him, the one he called his "salvation"—her name is Elena Abate. And Elena happens to be my stepmother's daughter. My father is trying to sell me to a half-dead Agosti heir for five hundred million to save the family. My stepmother is scheming to erase me from existence entirely. And the man I thought would burn this city to the ground for me? On the day I needed him most, he was lifting Elena up a flight of stairs, cradling her like something sacred. They all thought I was just a pawn to be moved around their chessboard. They were wrong. If Dante can't let go of his precious white moonlight, his "salvation," then I'll become someone else's "widow." If Elena believes she's already won this game, I'll let her watch from the front row as a woman with nothing left to lose burns it all down. My name is Serafina. Remember it. Because I am about to become the reckoning none of them saw coming.

During my cousin Monica Bleuthe's birthday party, my boyfriend, Grayson Chapman, who claimed to be on a business trip, suddenly appeared holding her hand and toasting the crowd. We were stunned when our eyes met. Monica hugged his arm intimately. "I forgot to introduce him to you, Ella. This is my boyfriend, Grayson. He's the CEO of the company we worked with last time." Grayson approached me and lowered his voice to say, "It's just a misunderstanding. I'm only pretending to be Monica's boyfriend." We had been in a relationship for four years, and he had never allowed our relationship to go public. He even refused to let me attend any high-end parties with him because he thought I was just an ordinary employee who was not glamorous enough to be introduced to anyone. He had no idea that my father wanted me to gain valuable work experience away from the family business. I hid my identity so that I would be better equipped to take over my family business one day. If I had married Grayson, he would have enjoyed a portion of my family's fortune. Unfortunately, that was no longer possible.

During the Thanksgiving holiday, my mother-in-law Mary came to visit us from Ohio. I took her to my husband Liam's new spa in Manhattan, Apropos. We enjoyed a basic facial treatment together, which I had purchased for $9.90 on an e-commerce platform. Right after the treatment, the beautician slapped a high-priced package down in front of us. She glanced at us contemptuously and said: "Do you really think you can enjoy our premium services with a $9.90 coupon?Stop kidding. You two look like you’re here to freeload. A single facial here costs thousands of dollars. This isn’t some free trial for cheapskates like you." I suppressed my anger and said coldly: “We have already paid for the basic treatment. How can you call this taking advantage for free?. Go get your manager.” A flashy woman walked over. Her arms were crossed. She looked down her nose at us. “I’m the Boss lady of this place.You and this old hag are just trying to get something for free, aren’t you? Let me be clear. You're buying this five-thousand-dollar hydration treatment today. Or you're not walking out that door.” A five-thousand-dollar hydration treatment? So this was it. This was why Liam suddenly got into the beauty industry. He didn't open a spa. He opened a scam shop to bankroll his mistress. I was about to call Liam, but she beat me to it, dialing a number. “Darling, you need to get down to the spa, right now. I've got a couple of hicks from the sticks making a scene, trying to get free services!”

Before the wedding began, Rosien Valmont, the vampire prince, chained me to the blood altar. A dagger carved with a blood curse was pressed against my heart. "Give Bertha your blood one more time and I'll honor the blood pact. Otherwise the wedding is off." Rosien and I had loved each other for 200 years. He swore in front of the whole clan that he would make me his princess. Then, three years ago, everything changed when he brought Bertha Bell, a dying human, home. Whenever her illness flared, Rosien cut open my chest to draw my blood. On every full moon, pain ripped through my body as though my flesh were being torn apart. Bertha Bell lay pale in his arms. "Rosien, let it go! Katherine has waited a long time for this wedding. If she doesn't want to, I don't mind dying." When he looked at me again, there was nothing in his eyes but impatience. "Bertha saved my life. You're only giving up a few drops of blood." He pushed the dagger in another inch. "You begged for this wedding in the first place. I can call it off whenever I want. But if you're willing to give Bertha your blood, I'll still make you my princess." I looked down at the ring on my finger and laughed softly. "One last time." Rosien had no idea that this was the 99th time he had taken my blood. In three days, when the blood moon rose, the Founder bloodline sealed within me would fully awaken. I would take control of the clan.

I was packing up to leave work when the shooting started in the neighborhood. The company sent out a mandatory evacuation notice: everyone had to be out of the building by six, no exceptions. Before leaving, one of my coworkers asked, "Chiara, want me to drive you home?" I waved it off. "Leo says he's five minutes out." At five that afternoon, I could hear scattered shots in the distance. I called my boyfriend, Leo Bianchi. The call didn't go through. The last message in our thread was from half an hour earlier. He'd said he was five minutes away. I figured the shooting and lockdown would slow traffic a little. At half past five, the perimeter outside the building was breached and the power was cut. I was the only one left in the office. I called Leo again. This time the call went through, but Lena Pisani, his coworker, answered. "Chiara? Is that you?" I hesitated, caught off guard. "Where's Leo?" "He's driving. He can't really pick up. We're on our way to my place. Leo said it wasn't safe for me to go back by myself. "Oh, and he said he messaged you half an hour ago, telling you to find somewhere safe. You made it home, right?" The gunfire outside was deafening, and I slowly went cold inside. For three years, every bit of Leo's attention had gone to his new coworker. And whatever feelings I still had for him finally burned out. "Yeah. I'm home." A home he would never be part of again.

Three years after my husband, Lucien Vance, put me on a household spending card linked to his account, he hired Camilla Bennett to manage his money. From then on, every dollar I spent needed her approval. "Nine dollars for a cab? The bus costs one dollar." Denied. "An air conditioner for your mom? She's gone without one for decades. What's changed?" Denied. Lucien watched me fume and said, "Camilla knows what she's doing. She's helping us save money. You know I can't stand gold diggers." Then Lucien's mother, Nora Vance, landed in the ICU with severe pneumonia. She needed a ventilator, antibiotics, and continuous hemofiltration. The bill came to $30,000. Camilla denied it again. My hands shook as I called Lucien 43 times before he finally answered. "Send the money now! Nora has pneumonia. She's going to die without treatment!" He sounded annoyed. "Camilla said it isn't serious. A little cough syrup will clear it up. You're making this up for money? What would your mother say?" Then I heard Camilla's voice in the background. "Lucien, this necklace only cost $25,000. I couldn't pass it up. Let's call it my birthday present!" I opened my mouth, but he hung up before I could speak. As I watched Nora suffer, it hit me. Lucien had gotten one thing very wrong. It wasn't my mother in that hospital bed. It was his.

In Kieran Chase's eyes, I was not his wife. I was a non-performing asset waiting to be liquidated. When I got sick and asked for help, he became impatient. He said, "This is a minor problem. You can handle it on your own. No need to tell anyone." When I broke down in tears, he reprimanded me. "Losing emotional control shows weakness. It exposes the fragility of our alliance. I'll have the PR team teach you emotional management." Even when I called for help after a car accident, he hung up. "Nothing about you is important enough to interrupt a transaction worth hundreds of millions." I spent seven days in the ICU fighting for my life. On my first day home, I found Kieran leaning over another woman, his voice suddenly soft and coaxing as he convinced her to take her medicine. He opened his mouth to explain. I smiled bitterly and handed him the papers I'd prepared long ago. My tone mirrored his perfectly. "Mr. Chase, regarding our marriage project, the return on investment is unacceptably low after comprehensive evaluation. I'm formally proposing we terminate our cooperation. "Here's the divorce agreement. Sign it."

I had been married to Lucius Martin for three years, and in all that time, there was never a shortage of women around him. Each time he brought another woman home, he would give me a necklace worth a fortune. In just three short years, I had accumulated ninety-nine necklaces. When Lucius fastened the hundredth necklace around my neck, I no longer cried or made a scene. Because this time, the woman he cheated with was my own older sister, the one who had beaten and scolded me since we were children. The man I loved most joined hands with the person I hated most to torment me together. At that moment, my heart finally died. This time, I took the initiative and walked up to Lucius, placing a house purchase contract into his hands. "As long as you sign this," I said, "you can do whatever you want with her." A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes, but in the end, he signed without hesitation. For the first time ever, he even leaned down and gently kissed my cheek. "Good girl," he murmured. "You've finally learned to behave." I personally opened the car door for him and watched as he hurried off toward my sister. When the car disappeared completely from sight, I let out a long breath. Then I reached beneath the documents and pulled out the paper hidden there—a divorce agreement.

I stood by Leo through three hard years. At last, his company launched. But at the celebration dinner, he didn't propose. He handed me a check for $30,000 instead. "Elena, take this money and go back to your little town. Stop clinging to me." Leo looked down at me with the smug pity of a man who thought he'd made it. "I'm going to marry Chloe, the governor's daughter. It's my ticket to Rockwell Ranch." He pinched my chin and said cruelly, "You're a penniless orphan. You didn't think sleeping with me for three years would buy you a place at the top, did you?" I looked at him and suddenly felt like laughing. I'd helped Leo build his studio from nothing. We couldn't afford staff, so I did everything and worked late every night. Once, my blood sugar dropped so low that I fainted and ended up in the hospital. Three years of love. Three years of giving him everything I had. And in Leo's eyes, a mere $30,000 was enough to settle it all. I studied him for a few seconds, then took the check. "Fine. Since Mr. Green is so generous, let me be the first to congratulate you on your marriage." He thought I was forcing a smile and strutted off to mingle with the important guests. Outside the banquet hall, I climbed into the black bulletproof sedan waiting for me. In the back seat, my father, the governor, was leafing through Leo's bid proposal. "Elena, you ran away from home and hid who you were for three years, all to test this man? "If you're done playing, come home. The papers transferring Rockwell Ranch to you are waiting for your signature."

Two rival packs, Black Moon and Bloodclaw, ruled the eastern werewolf territories, locked in a bitter feud over land. I was a pureblood Alpha Female, raised by Elias Reed, Black Moon's Beta and my foster father. Two years ago, I saved Gabriel Cross from a band of rogues who'd nearly beaten him to death. Later, we discovered we were fated mates. Ours was the first union between the two packs in a century. The two Alphas decided that once Gabriel and I completed our marking ceremony, they'd sign a peace treaty. But on the day of the signing, Bloodclaw warriors were ambushed on their way there. All the evidence pointed to Sera Lyle, the woman Gabriel had secretly loved for years. Yet he burned the evidence and let everyone blame me. “Sera's an Omega. If she confesses, they'll execute her! “You're an Alpha Female, and you're my mate. Even if you go on trial, the worst they'll do is banish you from the pack.” Even the people around him thought that made perfect sense. “Without Gabriel, who in Bloodclaw would ever accept you?” I searched desperately for clues and fought to clear my name, but Gabriel put me in chains and handed me over to the Werewolf Court. They were all waiting for me to confess. Black Moon's Alpha, James Thorne, and Bloodclaw's Alpha Female, Audrey Vance, were both at the trial. The moment they saw my face, they both shot to their feet. Nobody in either pack knew they'd once been in love. Or that I was their biological daughter, whom they'd left in the care of my foster father for 20 years.

My childhood sweetheart, Basil Nolan, died the night before I was going to confess my feelings to him. Every bone in his body was shattered, leaving him mutilated beyond recognition. It was all because he had stumbled upon the golden boy, Calvin Holloway, of the Zenirford elite, intimately wrapped up with his mistress, ruining the mood and killing the buzz. Later, I became that heir's new kept woman. I drank until my stomach bled for him, risked my life in street races for him, and knelt on the pavement in the freezing dead of winter to lick his boots clean. Finally, I managed to warm his cold heart. "I can give you anything in the world, except my heart," he told me. I smiled, wondering if that included his life.