Feel Like Rockstar Novels & Stories

My mom has been brainwashing me with her "quid pro quo" rule. Apparently, I must work hard in earning money just to get whatever I want. A round of doing the dishes earns me 50 cents. Mopping the floor once grants me one dollar. If I get a full score in my exams, that'll be five dollars. In order to buy a pair of white sneakers that I had had my eye on for a long time, I spent three months picking up trash from the streets. I lived like a maid who was paid on one-time services in this home. When I was a high school senior, I fainted during my homeroom period due to long periods of malnutrition. Even though my doctor suggested to my mom to pay attention to my nutrient intake, she began calculating the costs in front of my sick bed instead. "Your hospitalization costs 300 dollars. On top of that, you have a 200-dollar medical bill to settle. All of these costs will be reflected on your wedding gifts in the future, Emily." But when I turned my head, I saw a student sitting on the bed being fed chicken noodle soup by her own mother. Said mother was so heartbroken by her daughter's illness that she kept shedding tears as well. At that moment, my outlook on the world, that I had been maintaining for 18 long years, finally crumbled into dust. It turned out that not all children needed to work hard just to feel their parents' love. After getting discharged from the hospital and returning home, I finally sobered up the moment I noticed the sneakers that my younger brother, Arnold Baird, wore that cost several thousands of dollars. Then, I tore the family portrait into pieces and didn't hesitate to fill in the university that was located the furthest from home when it was time for me to submit my post-graduation details. Ten years later, my mom calls me on the phone. She starts crying to me how Arnold has swindled her out of her pension. Apparently, he's even sold the house just so he can elope with his girlfriend. Not only is my mom alone now, but she doesn't have a place to stay as well. I just smile as I throw her a piece of rag. "You want to live with me, huh? No problem. You'll earn 50 cents for every window you wipe. You can earn your rent like this."

After the company's entire plane crashed and everyone on board died, we all found ourselves transported into a novel, tasked with winning the favor of a queen. The system's icy voice issued its prompt: [The queen's male consort possesses a voice as melodious as a lark's.] Our handsome secretary smiled with quiet confidence. That very day, he stationed himself along the queen's usual route and began to sing a modern pop song. The queen was thoroughly pleased. She summoned him onto her carriage. Our colleagues looked on with unconcealed envy. "Looks like the bonus is his." "How lucky. The queen is wealthy and beautiful. Not only does he get to spend the night with her, he'll make a fortune too." But the next day, we saw the secretary hanging from a tree in the royal garden. His body was completely naked, riddled with arrows, his eyes still wide open in death. The voice he had once cherished was now a vessel crammed with thick, crude bamboo spikes. At the same time, the system's cold notification sounded once more. [All challengers' lives have entered the countdown. Please complete your conquest as soon as possible.]

I'd barely been welcomed back into the inner circle when the fake heir tried to pull me into his little crew. The other rich kids, of course, couldn't resist messing with me. They pushed me to smoke and drink, treating me like some obedient stooge. I was pissed—steam practically coming out of my ears. He, meanwhile, put on this innocent act and said, "Hey, go easy on my brother. He just moved back from the middle of nowhere and doesn't know how things work around here. I'll take this one for him." Everyone ate up his "loyalty," and just like that, my reputation as some clueless hick was sealed. That day, he was set on dragging me to another rich-kid party. I was about to put my foot down when, out of nowhere, the steward from one of the capital's old-money families showed up at our door. He said it was a special order from the lady's father—an extravagant gift. My parents' faces lit up instantly. They clapped the fake heir on the shoulder, practically glowing with pride. "Ryan, you've made us proud! Looks like Sophia's family is more than pleased with you. This engagement—well, it's as good as done!" Ryan straightened his tie with practiced charm, shooting me a smug, taunting look. But when I glanced at the label on the gift box, I couldn't help but laugh. Every new hire at Harrington Group gets the same welcome package. If the Chairman of Harrington Group knew someone was mistaking it for an engagement gift for his daughter, he'd be furious enough to lose sleep.

The company had been losing money for two consecutive years. That year, with our biggest client suddenly going out of business, we lost nearly ten million dollars in receivables. On New Year's Eve, I sent out a company-wide apology email after much deliberation. The email stated, "At this moment, I regret to inform that we can only increase each employee's monthly salary by 20 dollars this year." An intern named Ingrid Little took a screenshot of the email and posted it online. In no time, her post started trending. The entire internet criticized me for being fake and pretending to be poor. They said that my shameless act was a blatant insult to my employees' hard work. "20 dollars doesn't even cover commuting!" "Why hasn't this garbage company gone under yet?" Ingrid replied to each comment with the same line: "I don't care about the money. I just feel insulted. I'm quitting tomorrow." The next day, I walked into the office with bloodshot eyes and turned on the company-wide broadcast. I announced, "Since some people believe I've insulted their dignity, you may submit your resignation immediately. However, you will no longer be entitled to the year-end bonus of 20 thousand dollars." Everyone gasped in disbelief. Ingrid turned completely pale, and some workers even rushed into my office impulsively. "Boss, this has nothing to do with me! I stand with the company!" After all, my company had increased salaries for 37 consecutive years and given an average raise of over 2,000 dollars each time. They wouldn't find a company like mine elsewhere.

On the night I discovered my husband, Charles Lockheart's affair with the secretary, Whitney Keaton, both of them ended up dying in a fire. I was left with a pair of twins. Despite my family's objections, I decided to adopt the twins. For the next 18 years, I put in all of my resources, blood, sweat, and tears to raise them. Finally, they are accepted into Hallwood College, a globally prestigious college. But on the day the twins get into Hallwood College, Charles and Whitney, who are supposedly dead, make a shocking appearance before us. Whitney links arms with Charles, a wide smile on her face. "As expected of our biological sons! They really are amazing for getting accepted into Hallwood College! It's all thanks to you raising our sons that we got to spend so many years in our honeymoon phase!" Charles wears a victorious and smug look. He doesn't feel guilty in the slightest for faking his death. "Let's get a divorce, Brittany. Now is the best time for the twins to be reunited with Whitney and me." Everyone turns to look at me, waiting for me to have an emotional breakdown. But I remain cool and composed as I reply icily, "What a coincidence. I feel the same way."

After I brought in 300 million dollars in investment for his company, my fiance showed me the home we would share. I thought we would finally get married after eight years together, but instead, he turned on a building game. “I laid every brick here. Once the company is listed, I’ll build you a house just like this one.” I found him and his secretary showing off their love. He had bought her an expensive villa as a gift. I sent the photo to my fiance. “You can afford to buy someone a villa as a gift, but not our home?” Displeased, he said, “Alyssa is the company’s backbone. I’m only giving her a villa to encourage the other staff to do better!” But in the background, I heard Alyssa’s pleased laughter. “Some people should really be more self-aware. Does she think getting some investment makes her the boss of this company?” I did my best to suppress my anger. I wanted to see just how long the company would survive if not for the investments I found!

My son was caught in a car accident. My husband said that without a cornea donor, he would be trapped in darkness forever. Heartbroken, I let him sweet-talk me into signing away my corneas. Blind, I overheard my son gloating, "Dad, the plan worked. Mom fell for it, and Rachel's got her sight back. She won't be miserable anymore." "Yeah, now we're a real family with her," replied my husband. The truth gutted me. They'd played me like a fool to save my husband's old flame. When I confronted them, Rachel Huffman shoved me down a staircase, and I died in agony. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of my son's car accident.

When I'm trying to save a female patient's life, I use a pair of scissors to cut open her bra. But my fiancee, Scarlett Baxter, uploads a video of me pressing on the patient's chest to the Internet. "I know you're saving the patient's life, but isn't protecting the patient's privacy important as well? Besides, you keep touching her chest! This makes me feel very uncomfortable!" This incident goes viral on the Internet. The hospital I work at chooses to de-escalate this matter by demoting me and deducting my annual bonus. On top of that, I also receive a huge penalty for my actions. I did everything I could to save that patient's life, and yet everyone decided to paint me as a molester. Fine. I might as well not do anything, then. I'm not going to save anyone now. This time, the entire hospital falls into chaos.

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 roommate was Rachel Travis, and something about her behavior always felt… off. On social media, she hit the like button on every single person’s posts, except mine. Whenever she asked for help, I was always there. However, the one time I asked her for a pad, she wrinkled her nose and called it "disgusting". For my birthday, I invited the whole dorm to dinner. When hers rolled around, she invited everyone, except me. Then, I saw my boyfriend, Ryan Cooper, at her birthday party. That’s when I finally snapped and confronted her. She looked at me, wide-eyed, all innocence. "What? Everything’s fine. Why are you acting like this? You’re just too sensitive." Even the other girls in the dorm piled on, saying I was overreacting and telling me I needed therapy. So maybe I was "too sensitive". Fine. Then, I would treat her exactly the way she treated me. Let’s see how she liked it.