Independence Library Apartments Novels & Stories

I am Nicholas Greene's assistant and also his secret girlfriend of ten years. At the age of 29, I bring up marriage with him. He responds coldly, "I can give you love, but I can’t give you marriage. If you are desperate to get married, I can introduce you to another man to deal with your parents." I accept calmly. A few months later, he stops me at the door. His eyes are bloodshot as he questions, "Didn’t I tell you to just pretend? How did you end up actually getting a marriage certificate with him?"

My pregnant colleague told me to get her a drink. However, she had severe stomach ache after the drink and suffered a miscarriage. In the hospital, she was crying about how I harmed her. Her family members beat me up badly, even extorted 150 thousand dollars in compensation from me. I made a police report and was ready to take legal action against them. However, his mother-in-law pushed me to the middle of the road, and I was crushed to death by being run over by a truck.

Fresh from a business trip, my husband swept me into his arms and pulled me toward the bathroom for a passionate shared bath. As our lips met in a dizzying kiss, I noticed something odd out of the corner of my eye: the toilet lid was down. Seven years ago, after reading an online article claiming that men urinating while standing could splash bacteria onto the seat, he insisted we always keep the lid up for hygiene's sake. In all our years of marriage, it had never been lowered until now. A chill ran through me. The bathroom was pristine, not a stray hair in sight. But then I noticed the shower's water temperature was set five degrees higher than the 98.6°F he always preferred. Men preferred cooler water, and women warmer. In an instant, I realized that Nick Doyle had betrayed me.

George Milton took me eight times in a single night. By the ninth, his hand gripped my waist, his voice rough with satisfaction as he rasped, "Baby, I want you to use that innocent-but-sexy look you've got to go seduce Jordan." My entire body went rigid. Then I found out—George's first love, Sarah Byrnes, had been ditched by Jordan Baker, leaving her heartbroken. He wanted me to take revenge for her, to make Jordan taste the agony of being abandoned by the one he loved. After my family had gone bankrupt, I was delivered straight to George's bed. Naively, I believed he treated me differently. After all, I had been the woman at his side the longest. But he only sneered. "The reason I keep you is because you look like Sarah. She's hurting. Now it's your turn to do your part. With reddened eyes, I agreed, swallowing every foolish hope I should never have harbored. Soon, I captured the aloof and untouchable Jordan's heart. And for the first time, George lost control. He wept as he begged, "Catelyn, I regret it. Come back to me, please?"

The year Lawrence Scott and I were most in love, he died in a car accident. Everyone thought I would fall apart, but I did not cry, and I did not scream. Two years later, I ran into him at a private lounge: Lawrence was there, holding a young girl in his arms, kissing her passionately. His friends hurried over to explain: "Back then, Lawrence was badly injured in the crash and fell into a coma. He just woke up recently but lost his memory. We didn't tell you because we didn't want you to worry." Lawrence pushed the girl aside, frowned slightly, and looked straight at me. "So you're the fiancée I supposedly forgot? I don't remember you, but since you never gave up on me, I'll honor my promise to marry you." I smiled faintly and said, "They lied to you. We don't know each other." What Lawrence did not know was that on the day he faked his death, I received a video. In it, he was laughing and saying to his friends, "The thought of spending the rest of my life with only Yoana drives me crazy. I'll fake my death, take a few years off to have fun. Just keep her company so she doesn't do anything stupid." He also did not know that during those two years he was 'dead,' I had found someone else.

Hubert Parker and I had been together since our teenage years. We went from innocent first love to planning a lifetime together. But a week before our wedding, he died in a sudden accident. I cried until I nearly passed out, only to see strange messages flashing before my eyes. [Can someone please tell the poor female lead he’s not really dead?] [Hubert’s secret lover ran away after hearing about his wedding. He faked his death that very night and flew overseas to chase her. The female lead’s crying by his grave while the mistress is crying in his bed. This is killing me!] [What a pity. When he finally came back, she knew nothing and still married him with a smile…] Half a month later, news spread across Ashford that I was engaged to the heir of one of the city’s most powerful families. One of Hubert’s closest friends confronted me in disbelief. “It hasn’t even been that long since Hubert passed, and you’ve already found someone new?” “He’s gone. I can’t spend the rest of my life in mourning, can I?”

My best friend was a "mistress breakup consultant". I had lent her money to start her business, and her very first job turned out to be breaking up my own marriage. "Jessie, what's the point of a loveless marriage? You've wasted Harold's time for five years. Are you really going to keep clinging to him and making him miserable for the rest of his life?" my best friend asked. I laughed at the self-righteous nonsense she was spouting and had security escort her out. She came right back, though, this time with a so-called "Anti-Mistress Alliance", live-streaming the chaos as they broke into my company. "The one who isn't loved is the real intruder!" "Fight for love at all costs!" They chanted while smashing up my office. I watched them calmly, waiting until they wore themselves out before pulling out a contract. "The 100,000 dollars you borrowed from me has been overdue for six months. If you don't repay it soon, I'll be forced to take legal action. "And, the lab equipment you've destroyed is valued at 5,550,000 dollars. You'll need to compensate me at full price. "Otherwise, I'll see you in court."

My aunt has one leg amputated after getting into an accident. It's at this time that her beloved daughter chooses to leave the country. From that day onward, I care for my aunt like she's my own mother. We spend 15 years together. She's grateful for my care and promises she'll leave all her money to me after her death. However, my cousin returns to the country when my aunt is on the brink of death. My aunt goes back on her word and gives my cousin everything. She only gives me 50 thousand dollars as compensation for my "caretaking services". I've spent 15 years on her only to get 50 thousand dollars—it's such an insult. I'm so stunned by this that I trip and fall into a river. I drown. When I open my eyes, I've been taken back 15 years in time…

My husband, James Lincoln, disappeared in an accident, and my in-laws wasted no time filing to have him legally declared deceased. At the funeral, a woman, Xena Xander, suddenly showed up with a young boy, both crying hysterically. The boy, Charlie Lincoln, screamed at the top of his lungs, calling my husband “Daddy.” My ten-year-old daughter, Mia Lincoln, charged at him, shouting, “Shut up! That’s my dad!” Pretending to break it up, my in-laws instead shoved Mia to the ground. She collapsed and passed out on the spot. “If you’re looking for someone to blame, blame yourself for not giving us a grandson! This family can’t die out without an heir!” Xena smirked at me with blatant provocation. Behind her, Charlie spat in my direction and sneered, “You’re just a worthless tramp nobody cares about.” I didn’t lose my temper. Instead, I laughed. “If you want the status and the inheritance so badly, you can have them. But don’t come crying to me when you regret it.” Two weeks later, Xena showed up at my doorstep, covered in blood, banging on the door and screaming. And then, I got a phone call that felt like a nightmare come to life. But I couldn’t have cared less. By then, I was already enjoying a peaceful vacation overseas.

As soon as my husband sat at the dining table, he couldn't stop himself from talking. The humiliations of my school days had become his favorite entertainment, served up to his drinking buddies like appetizers. "Back then, she got her clothes torn off in the bathroom, beaten so badly she crawled on the ground like a dog, too terrified to make a sound. If it weren’t for my kindness—" That was it. I couldn’t take it anymore. I told him I wanted a divorce. He laughed it off, utterly unbothered. "Seriously? It’s just a joke! That was ages ago. You’re way too uptight—it’s just for a laugh, right?" For a laugh? Was I the only one with a past? Did he think he was untouchable? Maybe I should tell a few embarrassing stories about his precious childhood sweetheart. Fine. If it’s all about “fun,” I hoped his sweetheart found it equally hilarious when her turn came.