Plot Twists 短篇故事與 Substitute Regret 小說

Natalie Underwood and Damian Abbott were high school sweethearts. Both of them were the most good-looking students back in high school, and when they began dating, they were the most well-known golden couple on campus. There was once when they had made a vow to get married once they reached the legal age to do so. But just when their love for each other reached its peak, Natalie suddenly broke up with Damian before leaving the country with a rich scion. On the day of their break-up, Damian chased after Natalie for a very long time with red-rimmed eyes. To think that a young man as prideful as him kept begging her not to break up with him. He kept promising her that he would be successful one day. Damian begged Natalie not to act so rashly. He pleaded with her to wait for him and not to fall in love with someone else. But Natalie remained cold and aloof to him. She didn't even want to waste her breath on him. Heck, when she witnessed him getting into a car accident during his pursuit, she didn't bother returning to him. It was an extremely serious car crash. Damian's kidney was completely ruptured. He needed a kidney transplant in order to survive. Although he was lying on the surgical table while drenched in his own blood, he insisted on getting up so that he could call Natalie on the phone. But the calls that he had mustered all of his strength to place ended up getting hung up by Natalie repeatedly. For as deep as Damian's love for Natalie ran, hatred could run just as deep. From that day onward, Damien had nothing but burning hatred for Natalie.

On the day my sister fled her wedding, the mafia Don, Dominic Cross, slaughtered everyone at the harbor. Even the stray dogs passing by were torn to pieces. Terrified of his wrath, the Vance family forced me into the wedding dress and sent me straight into Dominic’s estate as his substitute bride. For seven years after marrying into the Cross family, I took bullets for him, laundered his dirty money, and even tasted his food for poison. The entire mafia family came to revere me as their Donna. But in the eighth year, my sister, Elena, suddenly returned. Clad in a scarlet dress, she strode right into the family banquet hall and tasted Dominic’s red wine for poison right in front of everyone. Dominic’s grip on my hand tightened. As she collapsed from the poison, she leaned into my ear and whispered, “Sienna, thank you for keeping my seat warm all these years. Now, it’s time to give it back.” I stood frozen in place, watching Dominic’s face. The horrors of that night eight years ago flashed before my eyes. I couldn’t help but wonder. Would this Don—this man who struck absolute terror into the hearts of the entire mafia underworld—lose his mind and burn the world down for her all over again?

I attend Don Vittorio Moretti's celebration banquet in a white evening gown that once belonged to his late wife. But his seven-year-old daughter, Sofia Moretti, shoves me into the sea. As I plunge into the water, my ankle gets slashed by a jagged iron piling. The scent of blood instantly draws a frenzy of sharks. Above me, Sofia stands on the dock, clapping and laughing. The cruelty in her eyes is identical to the way Vittorio looks at me. Sofia points at me and screams, "Do you really think wearing my Mamma's dress makes you worthy of becoming the Donna of the Moretti family? "You're nothing but my Papa's mistress. If I tell him to throw you out, he'll do it." I thrash against the freezing waves, and with every kick, every bone in my body howls in pain. By the time they pull me ashore, I'm shivering beneath a shawl. I look at Sofia, waiting for an explanation. Instead, she simply lifts her chin and spits in my face. Whatever remained of my hope for the little girl I'd raised for seven years vanishes in that instant. "You don't have to wait for your Padre to throw me out. I'll leave on my own tomorrow."

My family was the most famous line of witches at the royal court. My sister, Lilith Seyler, was famous for her lofty principles. I was the only one who knew she was a complete fraud. When the royal marriage decree arrived at House Seyler, she shut herself in her prayer room out in the woods and refused to come out. "Duke Edmund, your wealth and your power are dust to me. A proposal from a duke is no different than a proposal from a farmhand." Then she laid out three conditions for Duke Edmund. The Duke was to build a prayer room on his estate, since she needed quiet meditation and practice with the elements to keep her magic stable. Before the wedding, the Duke was to wash in mountain spring water, burn dragon's-breath incense for three straight days, and abstain from meat and strong liquor so he could come to her purified. And the Duke was to agree not to share her bed for three years, both to protect the source of her magic and to keep her perfectly focused and clear-headed for her studies. Duke Edmund Ashbourne gave a furious laugh. "I think I have come to the wrong place. Is this House Seyler or a convent? "If no one accepts this decree today, House Seyler is defying the King, and every last one of you will answer for it!" My father, Alistair Seyler, dropped to his knees in terror and begged Edmund for mercy. But no matter how my father and my stepmother, Cordelia Seyler, pleaded, my sister would not bend. She would take the decree only if the Duke agreed to her terms. "Duke Edmund, everything that happens in time and space is already decided. Two people with no destiny between them are meant to pass each other by. Why force me to say yes?" The Duke turned to leave in a rage, ready to bring the King's punishment down on House Seyler. I huddled in the corner, took a deep breath, rushed forward, and dropped to my knees. "I am Rowena Seyler, the second daughter of House Seyler. I will accept the decree in my sister's place!"

To repay Victor for saving my life, I gave up a brilliant career as one of America's finest neurosurgeons and willingly became his trophy wife. For seven years, Victor lavished money on me and treated me with bone-deep tenderness. Yet his obsessive rules suffocated me. Every other week, I had to subject my scalp to agonizing bleach treatments to keep my hair icy platinum. I had to bathe in a discontinued Venetian white iris perfume. And I had to wear a fake beauty mark at the corner of my right eye. I once mistook it all for the obsessive devotion of a Mafia Don. Then, on the eve of our wedding of the century, I found a wall covered with portraits of another woman. The measurements of my gown, the carat weight of my ring, even the beauty mark Victor had tattooed beside my eye, all came from a dead woman's final wishes. After seven years of consuming passion, I was never his salvation. I was a living specimen, crafted to harbor the ghost of a dead woman.