Feel Special Novels & Stories

Stanley Meyer and I were the main leads of a sappy school romance novel. We were childhood sweethearts with a bond stronger than iron and steel. Everyone thought that I'd be Mrs. Meyer in the future despite the fact that I was the daughter of the Meyers' housekeeper. That was, until I personally witnessed Stanley making out with Tina West, Gerard West's illegitimate daughter who has just returned from abroad. He even put the emerald pendant, which was supposed to be a keepsake from my grandma, on her neck carefully. I was overwhelmed trying to figure out this unexpected variable outside the plot. But Stanley decided to imprison me in a mental asylum instead. "It's better for you to wake up from that daydream of yours. I'm sick of hearing you prattle about the male and female leads for so many years. Only when Tina is by my side do I feel a sense of freedom." The torture I was forced to undergo in the mental asylum was too much for me to handle. My only salvation was the spare time I got to scribble down the original plotline of this novel. When Stanley found out, however, he torched my drafts instantly. He even went as far as to poison the glass I drink from. Before I died, I heard his icy voice. "Tina will continue to live her life in fear as long as someone in this world remembers the original plot. That's why you must die for her sake." When I woke up again, I'd returned to the day I witnessed Stanley and Tina making out with each other. Everyone around me wore various expressions, though they collectively decided to stay quiet. I was the one who shattered the silence by raising my glass with a smile. "I wish you a lifetime of happiness."

I accidentally come across a post made by my mom's smurf account on the Internet. "Is it too cheap for me to prepare just a set of gold bars as a coming-of-age gift for my daughter?" My heart skips a beat. My parents are known for being extremely stingy. To think that they are willing to spend this much on me! I'm worried that my parents might overwork themselves just to prepare such a lucrative gift, so I take a screenshot and save the link to a three-year vacation tour that's priced at 999 dollars. Then, I decide to respond to the post as an anonymous user. "Your daughter will feel very happy as long as she receives her parents' love. No materialistic gift can ever outshine that." Five minutes later, Mom responds to me, "Thank you for your suggestion, but I've already taken my darling on a graduation trip in Enora last week. She had so much fun there."

Everyone in New York knew that Don Lorenzo Capone loved his wife dearly. At the height of our love, he shielded me from a bullet that went straight through his chest. The hospital issued eleven critical condition notices. I cried myself hoarse at the door of the emergency room. "Lorenzo, don't you dare die on me, or I'll instantly find a pretty boy to marry and have children with!" He survived the ordeal, and the first thing he did when he opened his eyes was to marry me. After the marriage, he ruled over New York's largest underground empire with an iron fist, but never allowed any woman to get close to him. On our third wedding anniversary, I went to his private dock to give him a surprise. There, I saw him holding a pair of twins, teaching them how to shoot. The man who could kill without batting an eye was looking at the children with eyes full of affection. The children's mother was Elena Tribbiani, the daughter of an arms dealer who was his equal. "Lorenzo, what if Vivian finds out?" Lorenzo dismissed it casually. "A fragile porcelain doll like her is only fit to be displayed in a glass case. Only a she-wolf like you is worthy of bearing my family's cubs." It turned out, what I thought was true love was merely a carefully-woven lie. I did not confront him. Instead, I sent a text message to an FBI special agent. "Agent Smith, I have a list of the arms deal you’re investigating."

Under my parents' request, I work as the finance officer in my childhood friend, Julius Sanford's company. But the moment he goes on a business trip, the new intern, Lizzie Dalton, rushes into my office and demands that I process her reimbursements. As I stare at the pile of receipts that come from luxury stores, all I feel is shock. "Lizzie, I can only use the company's funds to reimburse business expenses. Why are you asking me for reimbursements when all you did was buy clothes and bags of your own?" But as soon as my words fall, Lizzie splashes a cup of coffee at me instantly. "I'm the lady boss of this company! The company's funds are my funds too! Don't think you can just reject my receipts just because you know my husband!" I do my best to suppress my fury as I dig out the company's policy and reiterate, "No, I seriously cannot do that. The company's cash flow must be reflected in the books." Seeing as I refuse to yield to her no matter what, Lizzie calls Julius on the phone and begins whining to him. "Babe, since when do I need to ask your childhood friend for approval if I want to buy something I like for myself? Or could it be that she's acting so assertively because you two are secretly having an affair?" Julius panics and tells Lizzie that he has nothing to do with me. After that, he quickly releases an announcement on the company group just so he can defend Lizzie. "Lizzie Dalton is my wife! She's the second boss of this company other than me!" After that, Julius tags me in the group. "Hey, finance! You're not my mom here! I don't like you, so please stay out of my private matters! "I'd like nothing more than to let my own wife spend my own money! If you don't like that, you can pack up and leave!" Once Julius makes his stance clear, I change my tune and reimburse Lizzie the expenses she's claimed. But one week later, Julius finds himself staring at the list of debts that's 33 feet long when he returns from his business trip.

This bottle girl, new to the club, always demanded I serve her. And only me. She was good for business, so I let it slide. Then, one weekend, two in the morning. I’m in bed in the penthouse. She calls, barking orders at me. “I’m in the ‘Paradise’ suite. Get up here with a bottle and get me right.” I almost laughed. The girl was an idiot. “It’s 2 AM. Are you ordering me around? I’m not your bodyguard or your dealer.” She sneered, her voice dripping with arrogance. “My cousin is the club manager. You should feel honored to serve me. By the way, your ‘protection fee’ is late this month. Get your ass over here now, or I’ll have my cousin dump you in the Chicago River.” Oh. She had no idea. The docks along the Chicago River… they’re mine. All of them.

After I refused for the eighth time to give my daughter a monthly allowance of $80, she went live online to denounce me. During the broadcast, she shared screenshots of our messages, showing how she had repeatedly and desperately asked me for money after the new school term began. "Mom, I just got my period. I do not have money to buy sanitary pads. Could you send me this month's allowance?" I replied calmly, "No." "Mom, I have not eaten in three days. I am really hungry." I responded with sarcasm. "What does that have to do with me?" The screen quickly filled with comments calling me suffocatingly cruel and heartless. Looking straight into the camera, she sobbed uncontrollably. "Mom, I am not asking for much. I only need $80 a month for living expenses. "Do you really have to push me to death before you feel satisfied?" Within a short time, I became the target of widespread online abuse. A well-known education influencer reached out to me. "It is only $80. It is not something you cannot afford. Why are you treating your own daughter so harshly?" I looked at her calmly. "Try livestreaming seven days of life with me and my daughter. "If you can do that, you'll understand."

At the year-end company meeting, I was announcing the bonuses when a new employee suddenly raised her hand. "Over at the other company, they handed out two boxes of imported cherries at their annual party," she said, shaking her phone. "And we only get performance bonuses?" The video, maliciously edited, went viral online and hit the trending list the very next day. I had the finance department cancel all the year-end bonus transfers. "If cherries are what really count as a gesture of goodwill," I said, "then this year's year-end benefit will be cherries—fifty boxes per person." When they saw the mountain of cherries piling up before them, the employees who had once joined in mocking me panicked instantly. One by one, they cried and apologized, begging me to reconsider.

The project I had poured my heart and soul into earned the company over a hundred million in profit, yet the credit was handed to the vice president's nephew. I stood in a corner, the stack of source code documents trembling in my hands, nearly crushed by my grip. That nephew—who couldn't even get Hello World to compile—was now on stage, smiling brightly as he accepted the award. The vice president came over and draped an arm around my shoulder like we were old friends. "You're just an outsourced worker," he said casually. "These honors wouldn't mean anything to you anyway. Jason is new. He's got limitless potential. From now on, you'll be responsible for mentoring him properly." Only then did I realize that decades of struggle had been nothing more than laying out a red carpet for someone else's glory. That very night, while reviewing the project's code repository, I discovered a massive flaw—one serious enough to bring the entire system crashing down within three days.

The moment my roommate walked in, she used my locker. She claimed to have too many things and nowhere else to put them. I rolled my eyes. Why should I let her get her way? I was not her parent. She was no princess, but she acted like one. I was ready to argue, but she tossed 200,000 dollars at me. “At your service, Your Highness!”

I did three years in prison for my wife, Lilian Parson. The day I got out, she handed me an envelope for her company's grand opening. Inside was a single dollar bill. For a second, I thought it was a mistake. Then I saw her colleague, Nathan Ramsey, holding his envelope—his also contained a single dollar. Relieved, I pushed my doubts aside. I smiled, stood by Lilian's side through the entire ceremony, the picture of a proud, supportive husband. That night, scrolling through Instagram, I saw Nathan's latest post. A photo of a check. [Congratulations to Lilian Parson on the grand opening! So generous—100 million as a gift!] The comments section exploded with envy and blessings, congratulating him and "the boss" on finally becoming a couple. Lilian offered no explanation. Instead, she hurried to draw a line between us. "You just got out of prison," she said coolly. "It's not a good look to go public right now. Let's keep our marriage a secret. In front of others, just call me your boss." Then she turned around and liked Nathan's post. I wiped the tears from my eyes, picked up my phone, and dialed the number of her greatest rival. "From now on, I work for you," I said.