Flirtatious Smile Novels & Stories

Selina Anderson, a perfect teenager whose life meant nothing but sadness and dull grayness of the world. Oblivious of the secrets her parents hid behind. A power she possessed that neither she, herself, does not know. A power that could either destroy or create worlds. A day without ruthlessness of reality, a day without confronting the cold – Selina decides to pick a book on a winter day. Only to discover that it wasn’t any normal book she’s holding onto her hands. It was a portal – a path to a world of magic. Upon her arrival to this world, slowly, she uncovers the secrets her parents hid all these years. She discovers her true self. But upon finding the truth about everything she thought she knew – she found herself in the face of disdain. Would there ever truly be enough answers to her questions? Will she accept the truth? Or will she be the destroyer of worlds? -- **She suddenly sat up, her light blue hair swaying on her back. "But hey, at least you could always ask me if you want some kind of space or something." She looks at me with the brightest smile pasted on her face. A smile slowly formed on my face as I looked at her. Her smile was like this infectious thing that would brighten the whole room. I sat up and glanced down on the mirrored ground - I could see my own reflection. Blonde hair, red eyes looking right straight at me, a smile. But the smile was almost evil in the reflection. I closed my eyes, the smile that found its way on my face disappeared. "Don't stop smiling." I look up to see Lyv gazing at me softly, observing me. "You look beautiful when you smile."**

I decided to choose a new husband after being reborn. I looked at Asher Vance, the boyfriend I'd devoted five years to, and I turned away without a second glance. Instead, I let my soft form lean into the solid, reassuring strength of his uncle, Alexander Vance. In my past life, I'd ignored the powerful CEO who wanted to marry me and insisted on loving the wild, free-spirited Asher. It wasn't until a sudden miscarriage ripped through me that I uncovered the truth—he'd been lacing the tonic he fed me every single day, without fail, with abortifacients. And his reason? He believed I wasn't as refined, as pure, as my sister Celeste Lockwood, and didn't deserve to carry his heir. Memories of our tangled moments in bed rushed back, how he'd so often whispered Celeste's name against my skin. Only then did I piece it together: every loss I'd suffered had just been a sick, flirtatious game between the two of them, a cruel inside joke at my expense. Fine. If that's how they wanted to play, in this new life, I'd just marry someone else. But on my wedding day, the ever-arrogant Asher collapsed in tears right at the ceremony.

I was on vacation with my mother at our country vineyard when a message arrived from Ava, my husband's personal secretary. He was the new Don of the Falcone family. The photo showed a woman, bruised and naked, curled up on the floor of a cold cellar. It was followed by a voice message, her tone arrogant: "Helen, is this what you peasants do? Claw your way out of the mud just to leech off the Don?" "Don Lorenzo just acquired this estate, and you have the nerve to let your blind, ill-mannered mother wander in here to freeload? As the Don's personal secretary, it's my job to uphold the Falcone family's dignity." "This is the price for trespassing on the Don's estate!" I froze, my eyes lifting to the other side of the long table where my mother was sipping her red wine, perfectly safe. I zoomed in on the photo. The moment I saw the details, my heart seized. On a pale hand was a familiar ring. It was the heirloom the Falcone Madre never took off. I immediately dialed Ava's number. "Ava, are you insane? That's Lorenzo's mother!" A careless, almost flirtatious laugh came from the other end of the line. "The Don may consider you his property, but he never agreed to take in your dirt-poor family."

After I discovered Chelsea Stone’s infidelity, I ended the relationship without giving her a chance. I packed my luggage bit by bit. She watched me, then suddenly said, “Jensen Scott, do you know what was the most boring thing about you?” I paused and turned around. She blew out a puff of smoke and smiled in a flirtatious way. “You were so boring. You did not even know how to sweet‑talk in bed. It was so uninteresting.” I walked away with my things, and I held back my tears. Three years later, I ran into her in the hospital corridor. She wore a white coat, and the medical record book in her hand almost slipped when I bumped into her. Our eyes met. She looked me over, and her tone turned playful. “Oh, is this not my blockhead ex‑boyfriend?” I smiled and did not reply. As I left the hospital, she stepped in front of me and lowered her voice. “Three years have passed. Have you learned how to sweet‑talk in bed?” I raised my hand and showed her my wife’s ultrasound report. “I have, but not to you.”

I suspected my husband's young assistant had signed up for some kind of socialite training program, all so she could try to become his mistress. She didn't call him "Mr. Anderson." She called him "Cocoa" because he loved drinking mocha lattes. It was her way of making herself seem special. Whenever he assigned her work, she didn't even move. She would just throw him a flirtatious look, twist her body into some exaggerated pose, and say, "What, you need me?" with a pout. In the end, I couldn't take it anymore. I told Perry Anderson to fire her. The second I said it, Faye Dawson leaned right into his ear and whined, "I know, I messed up. Don't be mad. I'll give you a kiss and make it better, okay?" And somehow, Perry actually fell for it. He smoothed things over like it was nothing. "Honey, Faye's a socialite. That's just how she is. Try to be a little more understanding." Fine. If he wanted to protect that fake socialite and throw away the real one, then he could forget about the billion-dollar contract from my father.

On our anniversary, my husband, James Marshall, purchased a painting as a gift for me with my secondary credit card. When I got home, I went to my study to retrieve an urgent court document. The door was slightly ajar. Inside, I could hear the flirtatious voice of my assistant, Julie Summers, mingled with my husband’s low murmurs. “James, your wife is just a money-printing machine. What does she know about art? She could never appreciate you like I do.” James sighed. Then, in an indulgent tone, he said, “Claire is too perfect—so perfect it’s suffocating. Not like you, full of life and warmth.” Just then, my mother-in-law, Susan Marshall, called James. He put her on speakerphone. “James, you need to move faster. While Claire still trusts you, turn all her client contacts into yours. That Julie girl seems promising. She’s much easier to control than that iron-fisted career wife of yours.” I gripped the cold doorknob, listening to the pair of shameless lovers in the study and the wretched woman on the phone, and immediately drafted a divorce agreement. At the same time, I forwarded asset-protection filings for all my holdings to my legal team. “I’ll see you all in court, parasites.”

The three hells!! Handsome, intelligent, tall and rich . Filthy rich. Cruel and devious in their dealings. Womanizer The utter type. They were enjoying the ways of life untill it all changed. The tables turned and the tide change. Their mother, Alicia Gerald a great disciplinarian and a no nonsense woman who has little tolerance for irresponsibility came. All the way from Italy to Newland "Get yourselves a serious girlfriend" she said to them The wanted to protest but couldn't. At the sight of that smile lurking on her lips. That old smile!! They lowered their head in submission as cold sweat broke out on their forehead Then it all began!! The search for a serious girlfriend

Roohi Kapoor has a problem. Scratch that—she has two problems. First, she’s hopelessly in love with her best friend, Vihan Singh Rathore, who just happens to be the most frustrating playboy in all of Delhi. He flirts with anything that moves in the skirt—except her. Second, her entire family—overprotective brothers, cousins, and all—won’t stop parading eligible bachelors in front of her. As an MD, her family thinks it's time for her to get married and “settle down.” But how can she think about anyone else when her heart is stuck on Mr. Heartbreaker himself? Enter Ron Kapoor, Roohi’s elder brother and legendary love guru. He could easily make a career of solving other people’s romantic disasters, but helping his little sister get together with a notorious playboy? Even he knows this is a recipe for disaster. Especially, when Ron’s strict rules mean Roohi must follow his plan down to the letter… and his plan involves turning the tables on Vihan's flirtatious ways. Can Roohi break free from the friend zone and finally make Vihan see her as more than just his best friend? Or will she end up heartbroken while her brothers plan her next “perfect” match? One thing’s for sure—things are about to get hilariously complicated.

The moment I decided to leave Vincent Graves, I did three things. First, I recalled the pregnancy report I had been about to forward to him and replaced it with a scheduled breakup message. Second, I called the bridal boutique and cancelled the custom order for my wedding dress. I had been measured three times for it. I had waited five months. I never wore it. I never would. Third, I called Dr. Helena Shaw and accepted the invitation I had turned down a week ago. An eight-year medical research program. Completely sealed. No contact with the outside world. Before he could spring the proposal he had been planning, I vanished from his life completely. He never noticed that while he let Cora take my place at the wedding rehearsal and stayed out all night, I was quietly erasing every trace of myself, step by step. I became exactly the wife Vincent always said he wanted: reasonable, gracious, unbothered. But after I was gone, he lost control and asked me, "Why aren't you angry? Don't you love me anymore?" I said nothing. I only remembered the flirtatious voice messages Cora had sent him, the ones I had heard from his phone. And I calmly dialed the number that would take me away.

"Vera, you are accused of conspiring with the Petrov Group to assassinate the family's future Donna, Sylvia. This tribunal is now in session." In the center of the tribunal, a syringe filled with a dark green liquid glinted under the lights. My former fiancé, Rocco, the new Don of the Corleone family, sat on the dais, disgust plain on his face. "Confess. Let everyone see the monster you are behind that mask." Sylvia leaned against his chest, a faint smile on her lips. She thought I would finally break, my reputation in ruins. Shackled to the accused's chair, a smile of faint relief touched my lips. "Rocco, are you sure you want to do this?" "Use that needle, and there's no going back."