Face-Slapping

Dahil sa maling daan.....makikilala at maa-angkin ni Phyton Alvarez ang dalaga'ng si Ariana Morgan.Isang inosente,mabait at mapagmahal sa kanyang lolo Damian niya. Siya ay may magandang mukha at may nakakaakit na hugis na katawan.Ang balat nitong makinis na parang alaga sa sabon na mamahalin at kong hawakan mo ito ay kusang madudulas ang kamay mo. Walang lalaki ang hindi magnanasa sa katawan nito-na agad makakaramdam ng libog sa katawan. Kaya isang gabi habang naliligo ang dalaga sa isang bukal....hindi mapigilan ni Phyton ang sarili na panuorin lang ang dalaga habang ito ay naliligo na walang suot na panloob- na tanging malaking t-shirt na puti ang suot. Inangkin niya ito- hindi lang isang beses kundi naging paulit-ulit.Ngunit may hanggangan ang lahat. Dumating ang araw na malalaman nila ang pagkatao ng babae'ng iniibig niya.Si Ariana pala ang nawawalang anak ng yumaong kapatid ng ina nito. Matatanggap kaya niya ang dalaga bilang pinsan o ipagpapatuloy ang pag-iibigan nila?

After waking up from a car accident, I become the perfect wife of Dr. Leonardo Rossi. In the next two years of being an amnesiac, I rely on Leonardo and love him with all my heart. But on the night of our wedding anniversary, I accidentally overhear his murmured conversation with a subordinate. "Take her out once she's done signing the asset transfer papers." At that moment, a searing hot memory comes barging into my mind. I remember a man placing a hand on my sweat-drenched lower back. As he pants, he murmurs into my ear, "My dearest Donna Vittoria Costa, remember that I'm the only one who can make you shiver like this." Finally, the fog that has been haunting my mind is lifted, allowing more memories to return. It turns out that the man who has held me by my waist is none other than Leonardo, who's currently passing a glass of water to me with a smile on his face. I swallow the pill that he has handed to me. But in reality, I hide the pill beneath my tongue and merely swallow the water. Dear doctor, when the prey remembers that it's supposed to be the predator, do you think your scalpel will still be capable of slitting my throat?

My pregnant colleague told me to get her a drink. However, she had severe stomach ache after the drink and suffered a miscarriage. In the hospital, she was crying about how I harmed her. Her family members beat me up badly, even extorted 150 thousand dollars in compensation from me. I made a police report and was ready to take legal action against them. However, his mother-in-law pushed me to the middle of the road, and I was crushed to death by being run over by a truck.

For a decade, my world had been measured in laundry cycles, grocery lists, and the ever-growing pile of dishes in the sink. I was elbow-deep in soapy water, scrubbing the remnants of another family meal, when it happened. A sudden, silent cascade of text flickered at the edge of my vision, like subtitles for a movie only I could see: [Gosh, the heroine is so tragic. Her husband's entire family has been feeding on her luck like parasites!] [Her husband stole her graduate school admission and her career!] [The in-laws are literally siphoning her health away. No wonder she's always sick.] [And the sister-in-law took her "romance" stat! No wonder her love life is a desert.] [Heads up! Her husband's about to give her another "gift." Let's see how much more he takes from her this time.] My hands, clutching a greasy plate, froze. Right on cue, my husband, Tristan, sauntered into the kitchen. A smug, self-satisfied smile was plastered on his face as he took my wet hand. He slid a flimsy, garishly colored plastic bracelet onto my wrist. "Look what I got for you, sweetheart," he announced, his voice dripping with pride. "I made a special trip after work. Found it at the dollar store. It's romantic and economical, just like you always say you want. You love it, don't you?"

I'm the top salesperson at a tutoring center. Payday comes, and my commission is 50 cents. I'm so furious that I march straight to my boss to demand answers, but his secretary, Sasha Watson, steps in front of me. She digs through her pocket, pulls out 50 cents, and flicks it straight at my face in front of everyone. "Here's your 50 cents!" My ears ring. Heat crawls up my neck and into my skull. "Ms. Watson, this has to be a mistake. I closed 1.5 million dollars on my own last month. My team pulls in over three million dollars. My commission should be at least 200 grand." Sasha rolls her eyes. She reaches into her wallet, pulls out a dollar bill, and slaps it against my cheek. "Stop barking! Fine, I'll throw you a dollar. Keep the change!" I'm about to lose it. "My mom is still waiting on that 200 grand for her surgery. Without it, she could die." The coworkers around us start whispering. "50 cents? For the top salesperson? That's insane!" "Lower your voice. She's the boss's niece! What she says goes. Unless you want to get fired, pretend you didn't hear anything." I turn away, pull out my phone, and dial our biggest competitor. "I'm in. Five million dollars a year."

My husband asked me if bras were more comfortable without underwire, and I was happy that he had finally become more mature. The next day, his assistant snatched the parcel I received in the mail, saying that it had the wrong address. That night, I saw Samantha Davis post on her social media, with the caption, “My boyfriend bought this for me. Isn’t it pretty?” It was a selfie taken in a hotel mirror, and there was a beautifully decorated box containing a bra lying beside her. So, as it turned out, it was not that men became mature later in life, it was that you weren’t the one they were willing to become mature for. Naturally, I gave the post a like and took a screenshot before sending it to my husband. "What a waste. You could have gotten an 20% discount if you bought the whole set."

On the day before New Year's Eve, I didn't shut the window all the way, and my little sister sneezed. My parents kicked me out and ordered me to collect firewood in the dark. Inside, the family crowded around her, laughing as they handed her presents. I didn't cry or make a scene. Instead, I slung the basket onto my back before heading into the mountains through the wind and snow. I didn't find any firewood. I found a man instead. His leg was wedged in a crack between rocks, bloody enough to scare me. When he saw me, he said in a hoarse voice, "Get me out of here, girl. I can give you whatever you want." I looked up at him, my eyes finally focusing. "Really? Then I want you to be my dad."

My newlywed husband wants to kill me. He's backing me to the balcony with a knife in his hand. The blade pierces my heart, and he shoves me off a 20-story building. At the same time, I see the tear streaks on his face. He says, "Long time no see, my perfect lover."

On our Christmas break road trip, my cousin Felix Lloyd spotted some high-powered speakers at a highway rest stop. He had to have them—said he wanted to "blast it." "It's Christmas. We finally get to see everyone! We need some vibe!" My wife, Lana Ramsey, smiled and helped him pay. "Young people have energy. They know how to enjoy life." I yanked the power cord out. "Those aren't for regular cars. This is an EV. Overload it, and the whole system fries. Then what—just stuck in the middle of nowhere?" Lana's parents, Vincent and Donelia, booed me, calling me a buzzkill. Felix cranked the volume all the way up. Lana glared at me. "Say one more word and get out. I'll drive." Later, the speakers fried the battery system. We were stranded in total darkness on a rough mountain road. They finished the last of the food, then shoved me out to "go find help." I slipped, rolled down the slope, and died. When I opened my eyes, I was back—right when Felix jammed the speaker plug into the charging port. I grabbed a few more subwoofers and handed them over. "One isn't enough. Add more. That's how you really crank it."

In the fashion industry, I was known as the most mysterious designer. I worked hard to keep my identity from the public. As I stood at the top of business, I was invited to be the secret judge of the Innovating Design Competition’s final round. The organizer reserved a VIP seat for me in the middle of the front row and ensured that my presence would not be revealed. Just when I was about to sit down, a new male influencer pushed me aside and threw his hand bag onto my seat. “What are you looking at, bumpkin? How dare you show up at the VIP section dressed like a beggar? Where’s the security? Throw this person out!” I swallowed back my anger and replied coldly, “This seat was reserved for me.” The influencer laughed. “Yours? Do you know who I am? Ms. Reid spent eighty million dollars in sponsorship to get me to come here! Ms. Reid has the final say in this industry. Do you understand me?” I could only scoff at him. How bold of the Reid family! Did they really think they could make this kind of decision without consulting me?