Plot Twists Short Stories & Unattainable Love Face Slapping Novels

My secret boyfriend, Marco Ross—the fastest rising mafia star in New York—hid a ring in our home. I thought it was for me. Instead, I received a video of him proposing to another woman—Bianco Conti —on our anniversary. The same night, masked men broke in, held me at gunpoint, and forced me to call Marco. A woman answered the call, “Marco, your little orphan is calling again.” Then Marco’s cold tone. “Don’t bother, babe, she’s just your substitute, a stray I keep around, a free woman to warm my bed.” The masked men shot me in the stomach—then fled. What Marco didn’t know? The real Conti heiress… was me. The Bianco he cherished so much… was just an imposter. I once refused to take the Conti name because of Marco, afraid it would ruin us. But if he never cared… why should I? I made one call. “Papa, I’ll come home, take over the business, and accept the marriage alliance—but Bianca has to be go.”

All I did was grab an extra bottle of water after getting back from a field assignment. That was enough for the new finance manager to call me out in front of the entire office. “Claire, do you have any shame? You bring in nothing every month, live off base salary, and still think you can take advantage of the company? “Transfer ten thousand into the team penalty pool. That’s your fine.” I looked at her for a moment, then said calmly, “Who do you think you are? If anyone’s going to fine me, Adrian can say it to my face.” What she didn’t know—I wasn’t only the company’s top dealmaker, but also Adrian’s wife. Eight years. A secret marriage no one knew about. Was he really going to take her side instead of standing up for me? The answer came fast. “Claire, just do what Rebecca says. It’s not a big deal. Don’t be petty.” I let out a quiet laugh. Then I looked him straight in the eye. “Adrian, if you think I’m petty… “I’ll request a full AI payroll audit. “Let’s see who really owes whom.”

Cole Jackman married me to repay a life‑saving debt. Eight years after I entered the Jackman family with tens of billions, his long‑lost, unreachable first love, Ashley White, returned, with her child. Because Ashley had a nightmare, she claimed my son, Oliver Jackman, would bring misfortune to her child. Cole believed her without hesitation. He sent Oliver to an abandoned monastery deep in the mountains, forcing him to fast for seven days to “purify” whatever darkness Ashley imagined. I knelt before him, pleading, “Oliver has a heart condition. He won’t survive seven days without food.” Cole, busy preparing nutritious meals for Ashley, didn’t even look at me. “He won’t die from a few days of hunger. If he can’t endure this, he doesn’t deserve to be my son.” He locked me in the basement for the entire seven days. By the time I reached Oliver, he was already gone. I carried him home in my arms, his small body cold and still. Cole kicked me aside as he pulled Ashley into his embrace. “You’ve ruined our son! He’d even pretend to be dead just to deceive me. If you can’t discipline him, I’ll find him a new mother.” I wiped the tears from my face and dialed my older brother, Emilio Darcy. “Withdraw your investment,” I said, my voice steady for the first time in years. “Bankrupt the Jackman family.”

In my previous life, I practically dragged my useless childhood sweetheart to Harvard with me. My academic record was top-notch, and I spent three years tutoring him. I asked my father to donate a library to Harvard University, ensuring that they would extend an additional offer of admission to Felix. Finally—when he rejected the offer in favor of taking a gap year to go work in Australia with the girl he was infatuated with—I raised such a massive scene that I ultimately forced him to go to Harvard with me. After graduation, we got married. The natural ending. He built a tech empire and made me the wife of the richest man in the country. One regret. He died too young. Didn't leave me a single word at the end. Just went. And I — I inherited his billions, and lived comfortably all the way to eighty-eight. But when I died, I saw his soul. His eyes were blood-red. "You forced me onto this path. You took me from the only woman I ever loved. I died with regret. Pray we never meet again in the next life." ...What the fuck? He'd been in that much pain? And I was the only one — happily riding it out? Captions drifted across my vision. [Lmao — how thick is this side character's skin?] [Male lead dies young in agony, she breezes through to 88 as the richest widow in the country.] [The girl he actually loved was the one who flunked her SATs and ran off backpacking, hello???] [They both died young, missed each other, and the side character had the time of her life.] Even I felt bad. When I opened my eyes, I was back — standing in that basement he'd sworn would be his life of freedom, on the day he was supposed to reject his Harvard offer. This time, I am not stopping him from going to Australia.

On the day after proposing to me, Edward Harrington takes his first love, Lily Monroe, on an overseas trip. All that's left is a note on the nightstand. "Lily has been wanting to travel to Marinova for the longest time. I'll spend a few days with her there before coming home to marry you." As I stare at the low-quality ring Edward has purchased from a convenience store at the very last minute, I can only smile silently. Well, it turns out that the so-called "a few days" ends up being 1095 days. Three years later, Edward and Lily return to the country in a high-profile manner. The first thing Edward has done is to seek me out and request that I become their bridesmaid. "Audrey, I couldn't resist Lily's charms, so I slept with her once. But she got pregnant right away." Guilt flickers across Edward's face. "The doctor said Lily can't get an abortion. Otherwise, she won't be able to get pregnant anymore." Upon noticing my silence, Edward suddenly leans down and starts peppering kisses down the side of my neck. "The wedding is just a show for the elders in our families. Trust me, Audrey. Once Lily gives birth to her baby, I'll divorce her and marry you right away." That's when I shove Edward off me forcefully. Then, I roughly dab a piece of wet tissue over the patch of skin Edward's lips have touched. Scott Miller, my CEO husband, is extremely domineering and possessive. It's only thanks to him being on a business trip these few days that Edward has the chance to get close to me. If Scott were to find out about the truth, neither Edward, Lily, nor their unborn child can think about surviving at all!

Two of New York’s most powerful Cosa Nostra dons, Vincent Luciano and Nick Valentino, made a brutal wager over me. The terms were simple: whoever won my heart first would win the right to marry Seraphina Moretti, the sole heir to the Moretti crime syndicate. The ruthless Vincent swept me into his Fifth Avenue penthouse, lavishing me with luxuries all of New York would kill for. Cold, reserved Nick played the lovesick fool, kneeling beneath the moonlight over the Hudson to swear he’d give me a safe life, free from this world’s bloodshed and chaos. I said yes. But the second we stepped into Vincent’s oak-paneled study, Nick’s warmth turned frigid. “Vincent, we had a deal. I’ve won the Moretti marriage.” In my past life, I was discarded by both men, betrayed by my family, and left to die of a forced heroin overdose. Now I’ve been reborn. And this time, I still said yes to Nick’s proposal... But everything would be totally different.

My name is Clara Kelly. I was born in Brooklyn, into an Irish-American cop’s family. My father spent his whole career walking a beat out of the 84th Precinct. My mother volunteered at the parish. I was the first girl on our block to get into Columbia Law. The year I graduated, I was volunteering at a charity gala. I picked up the wrong glass of wine and ended up dumping it down the front of a man’s Brioni suit. That man was Adrian Francesco Moretti. Fourth-generation Don of the Moretti Family of New York, and one of the five families of Cosa Nostra. He chased me for four years. I said no six times. The seventh time, he stood outside my law firm in the rain until three-fifteen in the morning. I married him. Two decades in, he’d handed me the keys to the entire Moretti Family. In our world they called me “the Irish Donna,” a woman with no Italian blood who somehow held the seat. Childless by choice, the two of us. Famously in love. Until that Wednesday afternoon, when my college roommate of twenty years, my best friend Vivian Sinclair, walked into my living room with a five-year-old boy. She said the boy was Adrian’s son. She said that five years ago, she’d taken a used condom out of the wastebasket in my upstairs master bedroom, kept it frozen for three years, and done IVF. She said she was the real mother of the Moretti heir. She was the real Donna Moretti. “Be smart. Pack your bags and walk out. You might even get to keep your life.” “You’re barren. The Moretti Family doesn’t need you.” I looked at the woman I’d called my best friend for half my adult life. I didn’t say a word. She thought she was holding the winning card. What she didn’t know was that she’d just stepped onto a board Adrian and I had been laying for twenty years. I needed exactly one sentence to shatter every piece of the Donna fantasy she’d spent five years building.

I once toyed with a college boy. When he fell in love with me, I ended things. Years later, after he made something of himself, he married me in front of everyone who thought I was lucky to have him. My family had fallen from grace, and to the outside world, I had won the jackpot. What they never saw was what happened behind closed doors. Every night, he brought a different woman home. I never cried. I never made a scene. That only seemed to enrage him more. So he went further. He got his first love, Natalie, pregnant on purpose. When I still stayed calm, he pinned me against the wall and demanded, "Stella, do you even love me?" Later, Natalie and I went into labor on the same night. I dropped to my knees and finally admitted I loved him, begging him to take me to the hospital. He held me tight, almost giddy with satisfaction. "I knew it," he said. "You liar." Then he shoved me aside, picked Natalie up, and walked away without looking back. "I'll take you to the hospital later. The pain of childbirth can be your punishment."

Ever since I find out that my CEO husband, Rowan Goodwin, is incapable of letting his first love, Megan Dolton—who's divorced and has a child of her own—go, I begin teaching our son, Ryan Goodwin, to address Rowan as "Mr. Goodwin" all the time. When Ryan is burning up with a fever, Megan chooses to summon Rowan away from us in the middle of the night. As I caress Ryan's scalding forehead, I instruct him to tell Rowan, "Goodbye, Mr. Goodwin." When Rowan has agreed to attend the teacher-parent conference with Ryan, Megan calls him with tears streaking down her cheeks, claiming that her own son, Nelson Herrera, doesn't have a father to accompany him. So, Rowan doesn't hesitate to ditch us once again. Without bothering to raise my head, I pass my phone to Ryan so that he can take leave for "Mr. Goodwin" in the parents' group chat. Every time, Ryan always hesitates for a long time before carrying out my orders. Later on, Rowan finally realizes that he has owed us far too much. So, he takes the initiative to suggest that we take a family portrait together. When we reach the photography studio, Megan calls Rowan once again. Her sobs can be heard drifting from the loudspeaker. "Rowan, can you please come over and pick Nelson up from school? The children at the kindergarten keep making fun of him for not having a father…" Pity crosses Rowan's expression immediately. He's about to crouch down and explain to Ryan when the latter just waves airily at him without me having to nudge him. "It's fine, Mr. Goodwin. You should accompany the other child. Mommy and I are the only ones needed for the family portrait."

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."

After the engagement dinner, my grandmother was hauled down to the family's dungeons. The order was given by Serena, who handled the finances for my husband-to-be, Vincent, the heir to the Moretti family. Vincent himself led her down, refusing to hear a word of explanation. "The late Don's wife's diamond cross is missing. Your grandmother was the only guest not part of the family. If she didn't take it, who did?" Serena stood at the top of the stairs, her arrogant gaze sweeping over my face. It was laughable. Based on nothing but Serena's word, they could lock an old woman away. "She stays down there for every day the cross is missing. But that's one thing, our wedding is another. We're still on for next month." I glanced down at the diamond ring on my finger, engraved with the family crest. Exhaustion washed over me. This whole marriage felt meaningless.

The day I found out I was pregnant, my fiancé, Shawn Gibson, told me he was going to marry the woman who was his first love, Suzie Sanders. Then, he asked me to marry his comatose older brother to help him get a wife. He said, "Suzie's family is forcing her into marriage. She's at the end of her rope. I'll marry her first, then figure out how to handle both families. We can still be together." I was shaking with anger and was about to throw the pregnancy test into his face. Suddenly, a young voice rang out in my head. "Mom, hurry and say yes! You mistook him for someone else that night! My real dad is his brother! And that coma? He's faking it! My dad is the richest man in the country! He's clearing out the traitors in the family and is about to make his grand return. "Marry him! This fortune is literally being given to us for free! We have to take it!" The richest man in the country? Then I was definitely marrying him.

My dad's company has gone bankrupt. Because of that, the debt collectors keep turning up on our doorstep for money. They claim that they will break one of Dad's legs if he doesn't cough up the payment in three days. I sink down to my knees and beg my ultra-rich boyfriend, Julian Luther, to lend me 500 thousand dollars for the time being just to resolve Dad's crisis. This is my first time asking for money from Julian. Julian's brows are drawn together in a frown, but in the end, he still agrees to my request. He tells me that the finance department will transfer me the money in the afternoon. My attention is glued to my phone the whole day. I keep refreshing my bank account's balance on my banking app. Just like that, I wait from morning till nightfall. But that's when Julian suddenly goes out of contact. He doesn't pick up any of my calls nor respond to any of my text messages. Anxiety floods my senses the whole time. I keep telling myself that maybe Julian has something urgent to deal with. But my need to save Dad's leg triumphs over everything else. Left without a choice, I can only take the jewelry my deceased mom has left for me to the auction house to get them auctioned away. Unexpectedly, I bump into Julian and his childhood friend, Rachel Bailey, at the auction house. Julian is quick to dump a huge sum of money just to bid for a painting Rachel wants. Ironically, the final bidding price of that painting is 500 thousand dollars. It turns out that he has never forgotten about my plight. It's just that my plight is nothing compared to his crush's love for a painting.

In the world of crime family, Don Damian and I were known for two things: him for running wild, me for standing by him. Everyone knew I was crazy about Damian. It started when we were kids. I was born with a congenital heart defect. My parents couldn't afford the surgery and chose to walk away. Back then, Damian was just a street-level errand boy whose father had gambling debts. He had no standing, no money, nothing. But to raise cash for my surgery, he volunteered for the most dangerous work the Coronelli family had, the kind where each job was a gamble with his life and every payday came in blood. He clawed his way up. The Don eventually took him in as an adopted son, and I became his wife, just like I'd always hoped. But ten years into our marriage, Damian stopped coming home. I'd sit alone at a table of cold food, calling him over and over. Sometimes a woman's voice would answer in the background. He had a private lounge at the family's club, and there was never a shortage of company. My best friend Vincent couldn't understand it. "Is it worth it? He doesn't love you anymore." I just smiled. "He gave me my life. I know he still loves me." Then Vincent forwarded me an encrypted video. A girl in a hospital gown sat on a hospital bed. At the edge of the frame, a hand with sharp-knuckled fingers reached into the shot, a hand wearing the family crest watch. Their fingers were intertwined. The caption read: [My hero promised to marry me once I'm better!! yay!!] I stared at the screen for a long time. That watch. I knew it cold. It was the one I'd fastened it onto his wrist myself more times than I could count, and there was no way I was wrong.

Married to Don Victor for three years, I thought I could finally forget the pain and betrayal of my ex-husband, Dominic. This cold, ruthless man ruled the East Coast underworld. But he handed me the world on a silver platter, healing my broken pieces. Until late one night. Victor's underboss called, frantic, begging me to rush to Manhattan's top private hospital. Victor and Dominic were in a standoff outside the maternity ward. Guns drawn, surrounded by their elite hitmen. They were inches away from sparking an all-out mob war. And standing between them was my ex-best friend, Chloe. She was visibly pregnant. The Commission's mediator slid a truce across the table. His expression was painfully awkward. "The security tapes are clear. The two Dons nearly blew up the entire floor just to decide who gets to stay in her room tonight." Numbly, I signed the papers as the Donna of the Costello family. Prenatal vitamins bought by Victor already piled high in the room. Meanwhile, his and Dominic's men were still arguing over the schedule—how the two Mafia Dons would split their week to keep Chloe company, three days each. When I walked up to the bed, the two lethal men who were just at each other's throats now stood guarding her on both sides. Victor shielded her belly. The same lips that used to kiss every inch of my body now spit out bone-chilling words: "I forced her. If you have a problem, take it up with me." My ex-husband, Dominic, glared at me viciously. "Keep your mad dog of a husband in check. Tell him to stop harassing my woman!" I slowly shook my head. Watching this farce, silent tears slid down my cheeks. A mobster's love... in the end, it's just a cheap lie. Victor, I don't want you anymore either.

At the World Rally Championship Final, my fiancee, Brielle Fuller, deliberately gave me the wrong turn call. Because of her, I lost the championship. Right there on the spot, she called off our engagement and ran straight into the arms of my rival, Chase Monroe. Just when I thought I'd lost everything, my childhood friend, Naomi Sutton, proposed to me. "It's okay. To me, you'll always be number one." Seven years later, I rebuilt my career and fought my way back to the top. Just as I was preparing to break Chase's championship record, a brake failure sent my car plunging off a mountainside. While drifting in and out of consciousness at the hospital, I overheard a conversation outside my room. "You're ruthless. You actually did something like this. Weren't you afraid he might die?" "If he dies, so be it. The only person I've ever loved is Chase. I only regret that you married him before I could. Otherwise I wouldn't have had to put myself through that all these years." I stared wide-eyed into the darkness. The love I thought was so deep was nothing more than wishful thinking. If they cared so much about Chase, then maybe I should disappear.

I had already bought the house we were supposed to build our future in, and over the years, I had carefully set aside a substantial wedding fund. I could not wait to spend the rest of my life with my girlfriend, Jeannie Cooperd. Jeannie had always seemed delicate and timid. Even a simple remark would leave her eyes red with tears. For two years, I spoiled her shamelessly, giving in to her every whim. Every plan I made, every dollar I saved, and every dream I held revolved around our wedding and the life we would share together. Then, I received the kidney compatibility report. The moment I saw the results, my heart turned icy. The woman who normally shrank from pain was now gripping my shoulders with surprising strength, determined to push me toward the operating room. "You're healthy! What's the big deal about living with one kidney?" she cried. "Elliot is dying!" Elliot. The name alone was enough. He was the first love she had never truly let go of, the one she had kept hidden in the deepest corner of her heart. Just yesterday, he was diagnosed with complete kidney failure. To pay for his treatment and cover the debts he had accumulated, Jeannie secretly canceled our wedding, drained every cent from the wedding fund and savings we had built together, and poured it all into Elliot's medical bills and endless financial problems. That was not enough. With sweet words and carefully crafted lies, she coaxed me into coming to the hospital and persuaded me to undergo compatibility testing.

On the day my wife, Sharon Lloyd, becomes the CEO of her company, I secretly travel back to the country from abroad with a 600-million-dollar deal in hopes of giving her a surprise. But that's when I witness her formally announcing that her first love, Gabriel Watson, will be the only director of the company. As Sharon holds Gabriel's hand, she tells him how grateful she is for his many years of accompaniment and contributions with tears in her eyes. The moment everyone notices my presence, they all turn to look at me, clearly itching for a good drama. But Sharon's expression goes stone cold. "Aren't you on an international business trip? If you can't even handle a small matter that I've entrusted you with, how can I ever entrust you with the company's management?" She allows Gabriel to mock and taunt me however he wants. On top of that, she even plans on demoting me to a regular employee. I just clap my hands together with a smile on my face before handing over the lucrative business deal to Gabriel graciously. What they don't know is that I'm this company's only source of income. Without me, all of the investors will no longer trust what Sharon tells them.

My brother, Gale Henderson, was the obsessive villain in a tragic romance novel, but he doted on his little sister even more. He loved me more than he had ever loved the female lead, Anna Umbridge. On my first day of kindergarten, I got into big trouble. Anna was threatening to throw herself into the river, but Gale left her there and rushed to the school to clean up my mess. From then on, he spent every day either bailing me out or on his way to bail me out. Before long, his life no longer revolved around Anna. Then one day, the school called my guardian after I got into a fight with a classmate. My brother stormed in, then froze when he saw the other child's mother. It was Anna, the woman he had loved for years but could never have. I lowered my head and did not dare make a sound. I was terrified that seeing her would bring back his old feelings. Anna gracefully played with her hair and looked down on me as she said, "It was only a fight between two kids. She doesn't look badly to hurt me. For the sake of what we once had, have your sister apologize, and we can consider this settled." My older brother's expression darkened. "Are you insane? Who do you think you are, comparing yourself to my little sister?"

On the day Owen Mercer and I get married, I place our marriage certificate beside our candlelit dinner. Just as I'm about to take a picture and upload it to social media, Owen suddenly says, "This certificate is fake." I freeze. A woman's startled voice comes through his phone, "Hey! Why did you tell her so soon? You ruined all the fun!" Owen frowns in frustration. "She's been completely clueless this entire time. Is there really any reason to keep pretending? Fine. You win the bet, Ms. McCoy. Are you satisfied now?" But my post has already been shared on social media. Everyone is sending their congratulations to Owen and me, celebrating that we have finally tied the knot after seven years together. The woman on the other end leaves a sarcastic comment, just like how she used to bully me back in the day. "Wow, look at you two finally making it official! So when's the reception? Hehe!" After a moment's thought, I respond, "Next week."