Face Smacking Novels & Stories

At the medical summit, my husband's precious first love thought the old professor's clothes were too shabby for such a grand occasion. So she dropped his conference badge into the trash. The old man shook with fury and threatened to pull his company's partnership with us on the spot. In my last life, I slapped her across the face right there, then bowed and scraped until the professor forgave us, and that was the only thing that saved our company. My husband, meanwhile, was heartbroken that his darling had been hit, and took her home to comfort her. Later, our company rode the professor's patented miracle drug all the way to its IPO. On the day of the celebration, indecent videos made with my face swapped via AI rolled continuously across the giant screen. And in front of a hall full of sneering guests, my husband pulled his first love tight against his chest. "You love slapping people in public, don't you? Today you get to taste what it feels like to be finished." I ran out of the hotel, sick with shame, and a runaway truck flattened me into the pavement. Then he turned around, threw the wedding of the century for his golden girl, and drove my parents into the street to die alone in the cold. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the exact second she tossed that badge into the trash. This time, I didn't fly into a rage to stop her. Instead I curled my arm sweetly through my husband's and laughed louder than anyone in the room. "Babe, Tiffany's got such a sharp eye. Security should've thrown this ragged beggar out ages ago."

Before the day of my husband's succession as the Don, my stepsister personally tattooed the "Inverted Angel's Eye"—the mark of a traitor—onto my back. My husband didn't just turn a blind eye; when the family vendetta broke out, he withdrew all the elite guards to protect my "pregnant" stepsister, leaving me alone in a defenseless city to face the slaughter.  "Elena, you are strong enough to protect yourself. But Sophia is fragile, and she is carrying my firstborn. She needs the protection more than you." Facing a siege of heavy firepower, I survived by the skin of my teeth. He thought I would swallow the insult for the sake of the family's reputation. He didn't expect that I would kick open the doors of his coronation ceremony wearing mourning weeds, flanked by the FBI and the Commission, and personally strip him of his title. "Goodbye, Lorenzo. This time, I choose to be the Don."

At graduation, I invited my classmates to attend my engagement party, but what I didn’t expect was the total meltdown one of my classmates had when she saw my engagement photos. She strutted over, full of herself, and demanded that I take off my dress so she could use it to polish her shoes. I blinked in confusion, thinking she must have lost her mind. I laughed and suggested she head over to the campus clinic to get checked out. Instead, she exploded, pointing a finger right in my face as she started yelling. “You leech! How dare you wear something so expensive?” she screamed. “You’ve been spending all of my boyfriend’s money on your filthy clothes! Have you no shame? Get down on your knees and apologize, or I guarantee you'll regret it. Who knows where you'll end up tomorrow? Maybe in the hands of some trafficker?” I couldn’t help but laugh. Who would’ve thought that my fiancé, whose tuition fees I paid for, had the nerve to keep a secret mistress behind my back?

On my eighth Mate-Marking anniversary, I had carefully prepared a special celebration ceremony. My Alpha mate, Derek, told me the pack had an emergency and the ceremony was canceled. When I arrived at the venue, I was shocked to see the ceremony proceeding as planned. Scarlett, once my best friend, was walking hand-in-hand with Derek onto the ceremonial platform. Her daughter and my son were being led by their hands, one child with each adult. The four of them stood closely together while other pack members, unaware of the truth, praised them: "The Alpha of Shadow Pack and his mate look so happy together." I stood up in the crowd and applauded: "I didn't know Shadow Pack had replaced their Luna with an Omega. They make such a perfect couple." The next moment, Scarlett's face turned pale as she collapsed on the platform. I ignored the chaos and walked straight home. The following day, Derek stormed back home and confronted me: "Scarlett's condition has barely improved. Why did you have to provoke her?" My son pushed me and accused: "It's all your fault! You made little Emma cry!" I pulled out the mate-bond dissolution agreement and threw it in their faces: "Yes, it's my fault. So I'm stepping out. Now you four can be one happy family." But my mate and son suddenly began to panic.

On April Fool’s Day, my CEO husband cut out my heart to save his childhood sweetheart's son. After the surgery, he tossed me into a cold rental apartment, where I died in agony. Three days after my death, my five-year-old daughter played in the room as usual. Walking by the sofa, she wrinkled her little nose and mumbled, "Mommy, there's a weird smell in here." She touched my face and murmured, "Mommy, are you pretending to be Snow White? Why are you so pale?" She shook my arm harder and raised her voice, "Mommy, it's my birthday today—get up and blow out the candles!" Confused, she picked up the phone and called her father. “Daddy, did I make Mommy mad? I lit the candles, but no matter how much I call her, she won’t wake up.” On the other end of the call, Patrick Hart’s voice was cold and impatient. “What could possibly be wrong with her? She’s just pretending to be asleep for sympathy. It’s Johnny’s birthday, I’m busy. Don’t bother me! Tell your melodramatic mother to stop playing her little tricks. I don't have time to humor her." My daughter removed the candle from her bun, pinched off a piece of the bun, and fed it to me. "Mommy, I made a secret wish… I really wish you could hold me again, just like before."

It's Family Day at my daughter, Hannah Neel's, preschool, but my wife, Samantha Miller, says she has to work and tells both Hannah and me not to go. Seeing the disappointment on Hannah's face breaks my heart, so I bring her to school anyway. As soon as we step through the gates, I see Samantha. She's holding her childhood friend—Oscar Barnett's—hand, with a little boy clutching her other. The three of them look like a perfect family, laughing and chatting, as if they belong together. When Samantha sees us, her smile fades, and she lets go of Oscar's hand. "Zach, it's not what you think. Oscar's raising his son alone. Today's his fifth birthday, and he just wanted to give him a little taste of a mother's love," she says quickly. I study her for a moment, then kneel and gently take Hannah's hand in mine. "Sweetheart, say hello to the lady."

Three days after my father’s death, I was home, planning his funeral. A woman and a group of bodyguards stormed in. She shoved me, hard. "Who the hell do you think you are?" she screamed. "Get out of my house! Now!" I froze, stunned. A new housekeeper? Maybe my brother Liam hired her. I kept my voice calm. "This house is mine. Liam knows that. If you have a problem, take it up with him." Her face twisted into a mask of rage. Then she slapped me. "Yours?" She scoffed, looking me up and down with disgust. "This is my boyfriend Liam's house. And you look like you don't belong here. I don't know if you're the new maid or the cook, but I don't care. Get the hell out. Now." My blood ran cold. I pulled out my phone and texted my assistant. [Tell Liam to get home and handle his girlfriend. Now. Or he won't see a dime of the family money.]

The next time I saw Chase Reed, it was at a little guesthouse in the Rockies. I'd just finished feeding my son breakfast and was wiping his mouth when Chase came out from the kitchen carrying a tray. Our eyes met. I saw his pupils dilate in shock. Three years had passed. His skin was weathered and reddened from the sun, his face covered in stubble, with new lines etched around his eyes from the harsh elements. Then his gaze landed on my son. He froze mid-step, his eyes going wide with disbelief before flooding with joy. He hurried over, his eyes locked on my little boy. "Sweetheart... can you say 'Daddy'?" I lowered my head, turned sideways, and pulled my son protectively into my arms. Three years ago, when I was five months pregnant, Chase had felt trapped. He decided to hit the road with his buddy — a female friend — and bike across the Rockies. He told me to cut off all contact and give him three years of freedom. From that day on, I cut everything about him out of my life. Including our child.

Vivian was wheeled out of the delivery room for the third time after a massive hemorrhage. The baby was stillborn. The doctor told her that her womb had been damaged by too many pregnancies. She would never carry another child. Numb and hollowed out, Vivian dragged herself toward the morgue to see her baby one last time, and that was when she saw her husband Ethan standing in the corridor, talking quietly to one of his men. "Don, your wife's baby was a perfect marrow match again. One more extraction and Claire's son will be cured." Vivian froze mid-step, every nerve in her body going still. Then came Ethan's voice, light and almost amused, and it shattered something she didn't know was still whole. His man hesitated, something pained moving across his face,"If Claire's boy pulls through, then losing those three kids was worth it." "Don, if the Donna ever finds out what really happened to those babies…" A cold shudder ran through Vivian, and her eyes locked on Ethan. But the curve of his mouth turned sharp, almost cruel. "She won't. I'll make it up to her, get her pregnant again with a healthy one this time. She'll be too busy with the baby to go digging." "And if she does find out, then what?" "Her mother gave her life for mine. That debt has chained me to her for ten years, and I can barely breathe under it. But now there's someone I actually want to protect. She has no right to stand in the way." Something softened in Ethan's face then, something Vivian had never seen turned toward her. "Claire was my brother's wife, and I'll never forget that he died protecting this family. So protecting his widow and his blood are our family’s and my duty." "She's the only person who's ever made me feel like a husband. Like a father." "I have to take care of her."

Emily Rosalyn Carter is a female prosecutor who is known to be cold-blooded among criminals and convicts in court. The most severe sentence demands are always the verdicts she submits to the judge so that she is nicknamed the guardian angel of the gates of hell by criminals. However, not many people know that behind Emily's cold attitude, she has many affairs with many men who take turns filling her love diary. Hot romance is Emily's choice to keep herself from losing her humanity when she has to face the cruelty of criminals in court. A hot, tense, and exciting story of the life of a single female prosecutor. Follow Emily's love journey with the men of her choice and the criminal cases she handles at the prosecutor's desk!