Mga Maiikling Kuwento at Nobelang Star Plot Twists

I once made a promise to the top actress in the industry. If I publicly proposed to her 99 times on livestreams, she would, on the hundredth, officially launch our relationship. But when the hundredth proposal came, she was on a private yacht kissing a new rising actor. Her smile had been so sweet and carefree. I became a complete joke. Feeling guilty, she texted me: [I will say yes on your 101st proposal.] She entered my livestream, looking like a goddess had descended to earth. As she looked on, I lit all one hundred love letters I had ever written for her, as well as the stomach cancer diagnosis I had hidden inside. “There will be no 101st time, Miss Ford.”

Three years ago, I wore my sexiest dress. I handed billionaire tech mogul Victor a spiked bourbon. I lit an aphrodisiac candle. After that wild night, he didn't push me away. He claimed me over and over. I shook from the climax. He whispered in my ear, "My Angel. You're mine." I was ready to propose to him. Then his fragile first love, Chloe, came back. To win her smile, Victor shoved me into the path of a collapsing stage light. Just to protect her. He let her stomp on my dead mother's vintage couture jewelry. She even used it as a dog collar. He used his lawyers and wealth to throw me into a freezing jail cell. But when my love finally died, I flew to LA to marry a man in a wheelchair. That was when Victor completely lost his mind. He tore the entire city apart just to find me.

Moments after leading his team to win the Cup, my superstar hockey boyfriend, Grayson, announced an indefinite leave of absence on live TV. Twitter exploded instantly. The team's group chat was in absolute chaos. The captain sent a dozen furious voice memos, chewing Grayson out for treating the team's blood, sweat, and tears like a cheap joke just for some girl. Yet, in stark contrast to his teammates' blinding rage, Grayson's private PR team chat was celebrating. "Let's see how Blair, his glorified babysitter, cleans up this mess." "She spent ten years busting her ass for his career, and Grayson just drops it all for Cici. True devotion." A new junior assistant chimed in quietly: "But if he quits, don't we lose our jobs? I heard the captain just smashed a locker in rage..." Grayson's childhood friend and personal trainer sent a smirking emoji: "You're new. Blair is a top agent who's willingly played our nanny for a decade. No matter what Grayson does, she bails him out. She'll just go groveling to the sponsors and vets as usual." "Bet Blair is smashing her phone in a rage right now, hahaha." Amidst the rapid-fire texts, a voice memo suddenly popped up. It was Grayson's lazy, breathless voice. There was the sound of a party in the background: "Shut up, all of you. I'm busy. You guys are too loud." The group got even more riled up and started to egg Grayson on. "Cici adores you. Just kick Blair and her controlling vibe to the curb. She's thirty now anyway. Probably going deaf and blind in her old age." The chat erupted in laughter. I stared blankly at the screen. I logged directly into the agency's official Twitter account, typed up a statement, and hit send. "Our agency respects Grayson's decision to take an indefinite leave of absence. " "To compensate our brand partners, we are opening a dedicated refund portal today. We will unconditionally refund all prepaid endorsement and cancellation fees incurred during his leave."

When I threw myself in front of a falling stage light to save my adoptive father, movie star Richard Crane, I came close to being disabled for life. Before they wheeled me into surgery, he gripped my hand, his eyes red-rimmed. He'd always kept his distance from me, but putting my life on the line for him had finally moved him. He promised that if I lived, he'd make me his bride. I thought he had finally returned the love I'd kept hidden for all those years. But after struggling through rehab, I learned that Richard was engaged to Hollywood's rising star, Daisy Morgan. When I arrived at the engagement party, the press was already waiting with cameras, hoping to catch me making a scene. Richard immediately stepped in front of Daisy and ordered his bodyguards to stop me. "Eve, Daisy's innocent. Don't hurt her." Calmly, I held out an audition invitation from a top director. "I crossed the line before. Consider this opportunity my engagement gift to you." Camera flashes erupted around us. Surprise flickered across Richard's face. Swallowing my pain, I gave him a gracious smile. "Since you're starting a new family, please sign the papers to end your legal guardianship. And while you're at it, give me back the screenplays my mother left me. From now on, we're nothing to each other." In my last life, I used the fact that I'd taken a near-fatal blow for him to pressure him into coming back to me. Because of that, the entire internet branded Daisy a homewrecker and tore her apart, sending her into a deep depression. Furious, Richard blacklisted me and confined me to a remote estate, claiming I needed rest. The endless isolation drove me to a mental breakdown, and I died there. Meanwhile, Richard stood by Daisy's side as she won the Oscar for Best Actress for a film based on my mother's screenplay. Now that I'd been given a second chance at life, I finally saw everything clearly. I would never expect anything from this man again.

At the hockey game, my neighbor Bianca confessed her feelings to the team captain, Hudson, right in front of everyone. The moment she finished speaking, someone dumped an ice-cold soda right over her head. "Look at this greasy freak. Does she really think she has a chance with our star player?" The bleachers instantly erupted into cruel laughter. I watched her soaked hair stick to her face as tears mixed with the dripping soda. I walked over and shielded her from the cruel jokes. Then I pushed through the crowd and offered her a tissue. She slapped my hand away. "Stop being so fake, Harper! You're the biggest hypocrite in this school!" The next morning, I woke up and realized I was in Bianca's body. Before I could process it, my phone rang. It was a FaceTime call from Bianca from my own account. On the screen, wearing my face, she gave a smug smile. "I paid a witch a fortune to swap our bodies." "Now it's your turn to see what it feels like to be a loser everyone steps on." "Your life as a top model is mine now. As for Hudson and his insane abs, I'm keeping them for myself!" I hung up, stared at myself in the mirror, and smiled. I finally escaped the toxic mother who was draining the life out of me. I was also totally free from that cheating jerk who only played games with my heart. This idiot had no idea what kind of nightmare was hiding beneath my supposedly flawless skin.

After my girlfriend, Rebecca Quinn, plotted to have me killed, I finally realized just how deeply she hated me. In my previous life, she dreamed of becoming a star. I poured money into her career and pulled every string I could, personally turning her into a rising A-list actress. Yet Rebecca never showed a shred of gratitude. Instead, she conspired with her lover to murder me and told me, "All that money you spent to make me famous was just your way of raising your own cash cow." When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back at the moment a director arrived at my school to cast the female lead.

On my first wedding night, my wife, Stella Turner the top actress, abandons me and sleeps with her ex-boyfriend instead. When she comes home, she reeks of alcohol and keeps calling Adam Green's name while holding me. The next day, Adam publishes a post on social media, saying, "Sometimes, some love is destined to be left unspoken and buried in the sands of time. I wish you all the happiness in the world." His fans leave angry comments below the post, criticizing me for being the third wheel. My manager, Josh Mendez, is almost going mad with anxiety. I scroll on my phone languidly and casually say, "Why so anxious? Post their intimate photos from last night online and say that I, the legally wedded husband, caught them in the act. Remember to blur the photo, but make sure people can still make out Stella's tattoo on her collarbone."

I've been with an award-winning actor for seven years. We've been secretly married for five of those seven years. For the sake of his career, I drink so much that I get a stomach perforation. I also allow others to trample over my pride and dignity. Yet he goes on lakeside dates with another woman and kisses her underneath the fireworks. He even has the nerve to tell me not to be unreasonable. Later, I get caught in a landslide when I'm on a business trip. I make one last call to him in fear. All I hear is him singing his lover a birthday song. I ask for a divorce after losing hope in him. That's when he suddenly begs me not to leave. He even announces our relationship to the world on the day he wins an award. Our seven-year relationship is finally public, but I don't want it anymore.

The day my husband, Leon Ford, won Best Actor, a video smearing me went viral. In the video, my sister, Lucy Carter, tearfully accused me of using my position as Leon's manager to break them up. She claimed I'd threatened to ruin his career and forced him to marry me, a 250-pound woman. Leon liked the video the moment it went up, making it look like he was backing Lucy's story. Within minutes, the entire internet had turned against me. "She used her power to pressure an actor into marrying her? Someone like that should be blacklisted!" "God, she stole her own sister's boyfriend! What a vicious woman. Leon must've been miserable waking up to that disgusting fat pig every day!" "I hope Leon and Lucy finally get to be happy. That damned woman can go to hell!" What no one knew was how much I'd sacrificed for Leon over the years. I'd found investors for him and spent countless nights drinking with clients until I ended up in the ICU with a perforated stomach. I'd even been injured protecting him from a hater. The medication I needed afterward made my weight spiral out of control. Back then, Leon had sworn he'd never be ashamed of me. He called me his only treasure and chose to marry me of his own free will. I believed him. Despite what the medication had done to my body, I kept working tirelessly for him until he finally won Best Actor. But now that he'd made it to the top, all I got in return was a public smear campaign and divorce papers. Just when I had nowhere left to turn and despair was closing in, I received a text from Stephen Moretti, the mafia Don. "Want revenge? Lose weight and I'll make you a queen."

At the National High School Football All-Star Game, my boyfriend Evan had just been named MVP. Sophia, the cheer captain, immediately posted on Instagram. Caption: "Guess who got a little something from the champion himself~" The photo turned out to be a pair of Evan's worn underwear! Scrawled across them in lipstick were the words: "For my dearest Sophia." She held them up with her long acrylic nails, pouting for the selfie. The internet exploded. "Why does she have his underwear?" "Isn't it obvious? They're totally together." "Sitting here waiting for the official couple photo." Within seconds, a close-up of the two of them cheek-to-cheek surfaced in the comments. Congratulations and teasing flooded the feed. I gripped my phone, a chill spreading through my entire body. Evan had promised to go public about us ages ago but kept putting it off, saying he needed to prove himself first. He'd been stalling ever since. Now here I was, his actual girlfriend, and I didn't even get an invite to his victory party. I took a deep breath and called him. "Explain." On the other end, Evan's voice was lazy, almost amused. "The fans grabbed everything off me. Jersey, pads, all of it. Sophia insisted on keeping something as a souvenir, so I gave her the underwear. No big deal." "The Instagram post is just riding the hype. Don't be so uptight about it." Then Sophia's voice chimed in. "Yeah, honey, Evan and I are like brothers! I've seen everything on him already. It's just a pair of boxers, so don't be so petty." I listened to their increasingly flirtatious banter through the speaker, then slowly pulled off my engagement ring and tossed it aside. "Fine," I said to Evan. "I'll be the bigger person. Why don't you skip the 'girl bro' thing and just make her your girlfriend? I'm tired of watching this act."

I was the last person you'd expect to find on Manhattan's Upper East Side. My parents, Grant and Helena Sinclair, were fashion royalty, and size zero was their religion. But I'd been overweight since childhood, and there was nothing they could do about it. By the time I was five, I weighed far more than other children my age and ate like a bottomless pit. My parents called me "Meatball" in disgust and shipped me off to live with my grandmother, Margaret Sinclair, on a farm deep in rural Texas. It wasn't until I won a full scholarship to Columbia that I finally earned the right to return to their New York penthouse. My father, a fashion mogul, took one look at me and frowned with disgust. "An XXXL hoodie, oversized sunglasses, and a black face mask. "You look like a walking trash bag. Are you too ashamed to show your face?" My mother, editor-in-chief of a Vogue-caliber fashion magazine, scoffed. "She probably saw Isabella with us at Paris Fashion Week and knew she'd look terrible standing next to her. "As if being fat weren't bad enough, she's got an awful personality, too." My sister, Isabella Sinclair, hurried over with feigned warmth and took my hand. "Your weight doesn't define you. There's no need to feel inferior to me." I was about to take off my mask, but my hand froze.

I was born into a family where beauty was everything. My father was an Oscar-winning actor, and my mother was a Grammy-winning singer. They had built their lives around beauty, fame, and the image of a perfect family. Then I was born premature, frail, and with a large birthmark covering part of my face. I wasn't the daughter they wanted the public to see, so they left me with my grandmother in the countryside and raised my younger sister, Vivian, instead. Grandma sent them letters and photographs every year. They never answered. Now Grandma was moving into assisted living, and my college dorm wouldn't open for another few days. With nowhere else to stay, I went to my parents' house for the first time. Dad looked at my hat, sunglasses, and mask with open disapproval. "Why are you covering yourself from head to toe? Are you ashamed to be seen?" Mom gave a mocking laugh. "She's probably seen all the photographs of us taking Vivian to premieres and award shows. She doesn't want her first meeting with us to become a comparison with her prettier sister." Vivian took my hand and smiled. "Don't worry, Skye. Looks aren't everything. You don't have to feel insecure around me." My hand froze on the edge of my mask. Grandma had been writing to them every month for the past two years, practically begging them to come get me. "Come pick up Skye already. She's grown into such a beauty that people keep climbing the fence just to take pictures of her!" So not one of them had ever seen what I looked like now?

Award-winning actress Jennifer Shaw was convinced I had deliberately tipped off the paparazzi about our relationship, hoping to use the exposure to pressure her into marriage. She grabbed my chin and splashed scalding water across my face. "You're no different from all those men clawing their way to the top. "You want fame? Fine. I'll make you famous. Famous enough that you won't dare show your face again." Within days, I was blacklisted online. With a burned face and a crippled right hand, I was thrown out of her villa on a night of pouring rain. That same evening, she walked the red carpet arm in arm with a rising young star, soaking in the thunderous applause. I dragged my suitcase down the deserted road and disappeared into the rain. Four years later, we crossed paths again on a parenting reality show. She watched as I stepped onto the stage as an ordinary guest, a little girl beside me who openly rolled her eyes at her. Her eyes reddened as she moved to block my way. "Where did you get that child?" she demanded. "What are you trying to do?"

Richard Montague, a rich heir in Durmask, has just posted a new tweet on Twitter. The accompanying photo features a luxurious winery. The caption reads, "My wife loves this place a lot, so I bought it immediately." I tap on the photo, soon realizing that this is Amie Winery, the same place that I had briefly mentioned to Richard last week. Then, I recall the fact that he has told me that he's prepared a surprise anniversary gift for me in a mysterious tone. So, this winery must be the gift! With a wide smile on my face, I respond to his tweet in the comment section. But three minutes later, Kiara York, a popular celebrity from the same company that I'm in, quickly proclaims her love for Richard on the Internet. "Wow, my husband is so generous! I'm very satisfied with this gift!" All the onlookers and fans begin shipping Kiara and Richard like mad overnight. "What a sweet relationship! As expected of the rich heir in Durmask! Even the way he announces his relationship is very domineering!" The whole turn of events leaves me feeling stunned. Once I realize that Kiara is just trying to ride on the coattails of Richard's popularity, I quickly post a picture of my marriage certificate online. It comes with a caption. "If she's the legitimate wife, then who am I?" But Kiara soon posts a marriage certificate of her own. To my surprise, there's a photo attached to the certificate. Richard's face is shown in the photo. Kiara mocks me, "There's a limit to being a lunatic fangirl, you know! Rick and I are husband and wife by law! You can't just slap a Photoshopped picture here and pretend that he's your husband!" As I stare at both copies of the marriage certificates, which show the courthouse's stamp, I fall in deep contemplation. Then, I look at the place Kiara tagged on her Twitter comment. Finally, I can't resist calling Richard, who's currently overseas. "How dare you engage in bigamy behind my back!"