A Beauty With Multiple Masks

The supplementary card I've issued for my grandmother shows that an eight-thousand-dollar purchase has taken place in another city. But the transaction records show that the money is used on hymenoplasty. I'm shell-shocked, to say the least. Grandma is 84 years old this year. She's been bedridden and paralyzed for years. Why would she even get hymenoplasty done on her, to begin with? But when my investigation leads me to a plastic surgery hospital, I find out that my wife, Stella Watson, is actually the lead doctor of said clinic. So, I call her to demand answers from her. However, Stella refuses to answer my questions properly. "Don't worry, honey. Something's most likely wrong with the system. Betsy is already this old—why would she have her hymen repaired?" That's just a bullshit answer coming from her. She seriously thinks I'm gullible enough to believe her. I merely huff coldly in return before calling my dad, who works in the Department of Commerce. "Dad, Stella is most likely cheating on me. I want her plastic surgery hospital as compensation for my impending divorce!"

My roommate won first prize in the national lottery, a full 100 million dollars. She quit her job on the spot, blocked her boss, and said to me, "Amanda, from now on, we'll live in Luxuria Heights, eating the best food and living it up." We went on shopping sprees at Hermès and treated Michelin restaurants like our daily canteen. On moving day, she told me to go ahead to the top-floor luxury apartment and wait for her. She said she needed to pick up a package. Excited, I entered the password she had given me. "Beep. Incorrect password." I was just about to try again. Then, the door opened. The person who came out was not my roommate but a stranger in a suit. He looked at me and frowned. "Who are you? Why do you have the password to my home?" I was stunned. "This is Lydia Zaydn's apartment. Who are you?" The man's expression turned strange. "Lydia Zaydn? I've lived here for five years. I've never heard of that name."

Après le divorce, Raphaël Moreau a terriblement regretté. Comment se faisait-il que son ex-épouse, autrefois si terne et ennuyeuse, soit soudainement devenue si prospère et populaire ? Les jeunes héritiers la considèrent comme la petite patronne. Les héros du cinéma sont ses fans et les magnats de la finance l'appellent en disant « Chère Madame Petit »...« Jade Petit, combien de « masques » as-tu exactement ? Je vais tous les déchirer ! »…Jeune maître des Moreau : « Mon ex-épouse est si fragile, vous ne devez pas l'intimider. » Les autres : « Une fille magique qui peut te faire tourner la tête sans dire un mot, qui oserait l'intimider ? »…Jeune maître des Moreau : « Mon ex-épouse est une femme respectable, ne la draguez pas. » Les autres : « Désolé, nous n'avons jamais vu une femme respectable avec autant de char…me ! »Raphaël Moreau : « Viens, chérie, je vais te présenter à un grand patron. » Le grand patron : « Non, je devrais dire un « mon dieu » à votre femme. Madame, permettez-moi de vous saluer respectueusement ! »…Depuis lors, Raphaël Moreau a été un PDG autoritaire le jour qui pleure la nuit, s’embarquant sur un long chemin menant à la reconquête de sa femme.

I received an order to feed someone's dogs at home. But when I opened the door, what greeted me wasn't a hungry pet—it was the campus belle herself. She stuck out her tongue, a glint of metal from her tongue piercing catching the light, and said, "I'm starving…"

I'm a dance major who's preparing for her exams. Everyone thinks I'm a good girl, but there's one thing they don't know about me—I've fantasized about being violated more than once…

In this world, there are more ways to deal with a problem than the problem itself. That applies just as well to cheating men. Rich men, especially, will go to absurd lengths just to have more women in their lives. There's no trick too low, no scheme too shameless. Take my boss, for example. He handed over his stunning mistress to me. Honestly, I suspected he couldn't perform in bed, because she came into my bedroom night after night.

“I’m right here, so why are you using a toy? Come, let me satisfy you.” Keenly aware of the blue-collar men around me on the sleeper train, lust bubbled up in me. I was sweating so badly that my lingerie was drenched. I had no choice but to satisfy myself, but someone caught me in the act. An older man pulled my blanket aside and stared lustfully at me.

I'm a stripper who works in the red light district of Las Poverla. By sheer accident, I bring the mafia heir, Alessandro Pushkin, home with me while he's completely drenched in blood. In order to cover Alessandro's astronomical hospital bills, I choose to sell my blood and my body. Before we part ways, Alessandro gives the ring that symbolizes his family's authority to me. He promises me that once he purges his family of all traitors, he'll marry me and make me the future Donna. But I don't receive any news from him since then. I'm worried that Alessandro's met with danger again, so I keep asking around for news related to him. But that's when I see the scandal of him making out with his new lover, Cristina Romano, on the news. In order to demand an explanation from him, I find my way to Alessandro's villa, only to be treated as a homeless person. As such, I get kicked out by his bodyguards. On top of that, I also get humiliated by his Cristina. When Alessandro's enemy kidnaps both me and Cristina, he forces Alessandro to choose one of us. He immediately abandons me, even though I'm pregnant with his baby. A gunshot rings out, causing me to collapse to the ground. Soon, Alessandro and Cristina leave. That's when I get up from the ground and wipe the fake blood off my body. The man who shot me earlier looks at me, his heart aching for me. "Principessa, how are we going to get revenge on them?" That's right. I'm no ordinary stripper—I'm actually the only daughter of the Columbo family's Don, making me the Principessa of the most powerful family ever.

"Ah… Mr. Carter, my legs can't spread any further…" My dance instructor, Cameron Carter, is in the middle of correcting my posture in the dance studio. He grabs me by my inner thighs while pressing on them forcefully. His actions drive my ticklishness to its peak. At the same time, I'm so acutely sensitive that I get wet instantly, soon drenching Cameron's hands with my juices.

After I dropped out of school, my parents didn't pressure me to do anything. But Nicole Hicks kept calling nonstop. She was my boyfriend's childhood friend who had established a reputation as a genius. I was too busy helping out in the fields, growing vegetables, and splashing around in the creek, living my best carefree life. Writing code wasn't even on my mind. In my past life, she had turned in a project just one day before I did. Her codes were exactly the same as mine. Everyone called me a fraud and said I had stolen it. I tried to explain, but no one believed me. Later, she even did a livestream, accusing me online of being a school bully. People went wild. They didn't just come for me—they went after my whole family. Some obsessed troll chased my parents in a car, and they died in a crash. I couldn't take it anymore. I jumped off a high-rise, my eyes still wide open, refusing to accept the way it all ended. Even in my last moment, I couldn't figure it out. That code was mine. My hard work. So how did she manage to post it before me? When I opened my eyes again, I was back, right before everything fell apart.