Diaper Dimensions Story Novels & Stories

On our seventh wedding anniversary, my wife handed me a divorce agreement that was valid for seven days. She had fallen for a male intern at her company who was seven years younger than her. She wanted to experience what she called a proper romance with him, one that would last exactly seven days. On the first day, they booked an entire private cinema and made love to each other from the entrance to their seats. On the second day, they went to the seaside to set off fireworks, and the light spread across half the skyline of Veyron. On the fifth day, the intern burst into an art exhibition I hosted and cried in front of the entire press. He accused me of coming between them. That same evening, the story of a rising painter becoming a homewrecker for love reached the top of the trending searches, and the hate comments poured in. On the sixth day, my wife apologized to me on the intern’s behalf, and his punishment was a three‑day ban from shopping. On the seventh day, my wife finally sensed something was wrong. She called me ninety‑nine times and reminded me that we were supposed to reconcile the next day. I replied with a single “okay” and quietly told my assistant to arrange for my luggage to be shipped out. What she did not know was that seven days earlier, I had already made plans to go abroad to continue my studies. This time, I was done playing her game.

After transmigrating through three novels in a row, the hardest thing I ever suffer through is drinking iced long black. But when I open my eyes again, I somehow become the pathetic simp side character in a trashy romance novel. Just as I debate whether to file a complaint against the system, the trembling system hurriedly explains something to me. Although this is a trashy romance novel, it is also an unfinished abandoned novel. I ask, "So you're saying I decide how the story develops?" The system replied, "Yes. Everything is completely under your control." Satisfied, I lazily stretch and begin checking the original Jacob's background. He has a trillionaire father and a billionaire mother. On top of that, he has seven rich and beautiful older sisters. With such a ridiculously overpowered setup, how can he go around simping for a broke college girl with no money? What a complete waste!

When war broke out in Irestan, my fiancé, Everett Jones, caused a scene at the airport and refused to let the evacuation flight take off. He was determined to wait for his precious first love, Annie Scott, who had taken advantage of the chaos to loot a cosmetics counter for luxury goods. By then, the insurgent forces were already closing in. The shriek of explosions grew louder, drawing nearer by the second. With an entire plane full of people in mortal danger, I had no choice. I knocked Everett unconscious and dragged him aboard. After we returned home, far from the battlefield, we lived a period of quiet, comfortable happiness. I truly believed he had finally put that woman behind him. I was wrong. On our wedding day, he tied me up, drove me away, and deliberately crashed the car, killing me. As my life slipped away, I heard his twisted laughter. "Daniela, you're the one who killed my Annie. Because of you, she was killed by an insurgent missile. "She was just a young girl who liked to look pretty. What was so wrong with that? "This is what you owe her. I'm going to make you suffer far more than she ever did." When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the boarding gate, at the exact moment he blocked the plane. This time, I chose to grant his wish and let him stay behind with his beloved first love, together, forever.

On my father’s sixtieth birthday, I was overseas, negotiating an energy contract. I deliberately told my wife to throw a huge banquet for him. That day, I watched the mansion’s security footage with a smile. Unexpectedly, I saw my nine adoptive siblings surrounding an unfamiliar old man. That old man wore my dad’s class ring as he happily pulled my wife onto the stage. “Thank you for coming to my birthday banquet. This is my daughter-in-law, the president of the Viapent Group. She’s the absolute best! She spent three million dollars on this banquet! It’s all thanks to my eldest son for finding such a capable wife.” In one corner, my actual father was in tattered clothes, washing dishes with my son. He accidentally splattered some water. One of the guests kicked him in disgust, causing him to cough up blood. The security footage was cut off. How dare these people mistreat my father and son? I called a special number. “I’m putting a stop to the negotiations. My father and son are being abused back home. I am returning to them now.”

The richest woman in all of Jezelworth, Abby Davidson, was determined to marry my brother, Wallace Bourn. Everyone called Abby the "Black Widow", a cold-hearted woman who would do anything to get what she wanted. Anyone who married her was doomed to meet a tragic end. Wallace turned pale with fear, but I pulled him aside and said quietly, "I'll marry her in your place. But you have to stay in the countryside and guard my father's safe under his grave for three years. You can't open it before then." He thought the safe held a massive fortune. Grinning like a fool, he agreed without hesitation. Watching his greedy face, I couldn't help but laugh coldly inside. He'd better be ready for this. I couldn't wait to see if he could manage the "surprise" he'd find inside!

On the day my sight returned, our family doctor, Anna Leone, stood right in front of me and mouthed to my husband, Don Marco Vitale, "Double the lubricant tonight. I promise it'll send you straight to heaven, my Don." Marco pressed a gentle kiss to my eyes. Then he turned away and replied with the same silent lip movements, "You little tease. That mouth of yours—and the one below—I'm crazy about them both." The two of them exchanged a knowing smile, convinced their secret was flawless. What they didn't know was that not only had my vision fully recovered—I was also fluent in lip-reading. My gaze drifted to the bottle of lubricant sitting brazenly in the wall cabinet. I said nothing. Instead, I quietly sent a single text message: [Papa, I've decided to come home.] In three days, I would vanish completely. All I would leave behind for them would be the hollowed-out fortune of billions—and that bottle of "lubricant" I had replaced with high-strength industrial superglue.

My husband chooses to stay in a honeymoon suite with his secretary during a company teambuilding event. "I'm in poor health, so I need Mr. Lowe by my side to care for me when I'm taking a dip in the hot springs. I'm sure Elaine won't be mad because she's so generous, right?" My husband wraps an arm around her waist, sounding displeased as he says, "Ignore her. I'd have wasted my time on her if she's so petty!" Our colleagues chime in. "Exactly! It's best to get a divorce if your wife gets jealous so easily! Now, Ms. Klein is gentle and considerate. You're a lucky man, Mr. Lowe!" I'm the one who recruited all of these people into the company, yet they all now despise me. Since none of them like me, there's no need for the company to exist anymore. I text my parents. "Don't bother investing in the company anymore. I no longer want it."

Three months into my pregnancy, I was resting at home to ensure the baby’s health when a typhoon struck. My husband, Adam Quinn, received a call and rushed out to meet his childhood sweetheart. As a result, I experienced severe abdominal pain. The ambulance taking me to the hospital was involved in an accident, and I lost the baby. Adam arrived much later, only to blame me, saying, "Mona Thomas, why are you so useless? You couldn’t even keep the baby!"

His first love barged into my office and stood before me, mocking, "He doesn't love you at all." I rolled my eyes. "I don't know whether he loves me, but I am Mrs. Brooke now. And who are you, exactly?" I was surprised that there was still someone so clueless in this day and age. Marriage was all about mutual benefit; the idea of love was downright ridiculous. To me, Noah was just a means to an end—a tool that would double my worth. I had never taken him seriously.

The day my sister slipped away from her engagement party, she was certain Marshall Patton could never truly fall in love with me. Confident in her belief, she left the country without hesitation, leaving me behind to hold her place and secure the title of Mrs. Patton in her stead. I didn't cry or make a fuss. Instead, I played the part of the obedient stand-in, giving everyone the courtesy of maintaining appearances while I quietly bided my time. Then, I poured every ounce of effort into making Marshall fall for me, bit by bit. And when my sister finally returned, I made sure to walk away.