Independence Library Apartments Novels & Stories

It was only in the eighth year of our marriage that I discovered my husband had a mistress in the neighborhood. Her place had the same layout as mine, except her furnishings were more luxurious. He was a good husband for her, meticulously caring for his young and beautiful wife. They were even expecting a baby. She sent me a message, eager to get rid of and replace me. She had forgotten I was the one who had been through hard times with him, Clyde Sherwood, and fought alongside him for more than a decade. Her pregnancy was what they both wanted, but there was no way I would allow things to work out the way they anticipated. Taking advantage of his conflicted feelings, I made sure he didn't have any more assets. Everything came with a price. Not only would I make him fall from grace, but I would also make him rot in ruins.

Just for brushing against the hem of Eva Lawson, the heiress’s custom couture gown, Lucy Quinn's mother had her limbs broken, then thrown into the sea to die. The day Lucy dragged the arrogant heiress to court she thought that justice might finally be served. Eva was declared not guilty. Why? Because the defense attorney representing her was none other than Wyatt Grant, founder of the most untouchable law firm in River City, and Lucy Quinn’s husband. When the trial ended, the elegant and aloof man stepped down from the defense table and placed an apology letter in front of Lucy. "Lulu, sign it. You don’t want to be sued for defamation and end up in prison, do you?" His tone was calm and coaxing, but behind the lenses of his gold-rimmed glasses, his gaze was cold as ice. Lucy, tears stubbornly clinging to her eyes, looked up at him and said with a trembling voice, "Why, Wyatt, Why?"

On the day I discover that Ignazio Corelli, who is my husband and the Don of the Corelli famiglia, is cheating on me for the first time, I file for divorce and buy a plane ticket to leave. But he locks me in the master bedroom of the villa for five days and uses up three whole bottles of lubricant. After that, he explains with a helpless expression, "Carlotta, my enemies set me up and drugged me. That's why I spent one night with Chiara Linetti. You have to forgive me." The second time, I see him accompanying Chiara to a prenatal checkup at the hospital. Once again, I ask for a divorce. His eyes turn bloodshot as he pins me against the wall. "Honey, if you want a divorce, it'll only happen over my dead body. You have to trust me. Chiara is a spy my enemies planted. I need to keep her under control and make her my double agent. "It won't take long. We just need to wait until after she gives birth. I swear that once the time comes, I'll send her away immediately." But later, Chiara suffers a miscarriage. Everyone suspects that I am secretly responsible. Chiara grabs my throat like a madwoman and shrieks, "If you're angry, take it out on me! Why did you have to harm my child?" Even Ignazio looks at me with heavy disappointment in his eyes. "I told you to wait a little longer. Why did you have to make a move against my child?" With that, he orders his men to lock me in the basement where he usually imprisons his enemies. "You can come out when you've truly reflected on your mistakes," he says. Curled up in a corner, I send a message that will erase itself once it is read from my phone. I write, "Destroy all records of my childbirth. Once the paperwork is complete, take me and the child away."

After I graduate from college, my uncle, Malcolm Caldwell, convinces my family to chip in and open a seafood restaurant. Dad and I wholeheartedly agree with his suggestion. Since then, we work as the restaurant's cooks. Five years later, our seafood restaurant becomes the top restaurant on the city's Must-Eat List. Our monthly profits hit more than 200 grand. On the day the earnings are to be split among us, Uncle Malcolm pockets 150 grand. Then, he passes 150 grand each to my cousins, Maxwell and Melanie Caldwell. The remaining sum, which is less than eight grand, is handed over to Dad and me. When faced with our questions, Uncle Malcolm adapts a matter-of-fact tone. "Max is in charge of dealing with the customers. He has suffered a lot just by having to deal with so many fussy customers every day. "Mel is the one in charge of the finances. She's worked so hard calculating every cent in the profits that we've earned." Then, Uncle Malcolm turns to look at us. "As for you two, all you do is hide in the kitchen all day. I bet you two have secretly taken many bites out of the customers' food all these years, right? "Since we're relatives and all, I shall not hold you accountable. How about this? If you two work hard, I'll make sure to reward you well if our profits double again next month." Dad is so furious that he's practically shaking. But I just hold his hand calmly and accept the money. "Fine. You can split up the shares however you want, Uncle Malcolm. I'm fine with it." Soon, they will realize that Dad and I are the actual profit generators, not them.

The results of the arts entrance exam have been released. All seven colleges that my best friend, Nicole Porter, applied to have rejected her. If she wants to get into college, she'll have to work hard on her general admission exams. So, I seek out my boyfriend, Preston Nolin, who's the top of our year, and ask him to tutor Nicole. However, Preston, who has always been mild-tempered, seems extremely reluctant to do so. "Fi, you've helped Nicole out far too many times over the past few years. When she couldn't pay her school fees, you were the one who paid them for her using the prize money you won from the competitions. "When Nicole's sexist parents caused a ruckus at school, you were the one who called the police on them. But because of that, her family got their revenge on you and almost left you blind in your left eye. "Now, Nicole can't even get into any of the seven colleges she applied to. Since she's not book-smart, she should just drop out of high school and find a job. This outcome is the best for everyone involved." Preston and I have been in a relationship for three years. Yet, this is my first time getting mad at him. "Nikki is my best friend as well as the most important person in my life! You're not allowed to badmouth her like this! Since you don't want to help her at all, then we might as well break up!" In order to avoid breaking up with me, Preston has no choice but to comply. Later on, Nicole's grades keep improving by leaps and bounds. I've also worked hard in my studies, resulting in me getting pretty decent grades in my College Entrance Examination. In fact, I've hit the threshold where I can attend one of the most prestigious colleges in the state with Preston. But when there's barely a minute left before the deadline is up, Nicole changes my dream college to the top college in the country, one that I'm definitely not qualified for. As for Preston, he just watches Nicole tamper with my application without showing any intention of stopping her.

On New Year’s Eve, Kian Newman never came home. Instead, he had someone deliver a container of frozen ravioli and sent me a single message: "Stay safe this year." I had barely locked the screen when a photo popped up in the company group chat. Isabel Wilkinson, Kian's assistant, had posted it. It was a lavish holiday dinner spread across the table, every dish clearly homemade. The caption read: "Someone spent all day cooking so I could have a taste of home. Love you." For the first time, I didn’t call or argue. I simply packed my things and went back to my hometown. The first day I vanished, a friend sent me a video. In it, Kian had his arm around Isabel, smiling casually as he said, "Lane's just upset. She’ll come back on her own." A month later, Kian was searching for me like he’d lost his mind. "I learned how to make ravioli, I’ll make it for you for the rest of our lives. Just come home and try it, okay?" He was still oblivious that I had always hated ravioli.

Growing up, my younger sister Nina was always the one my family loved most. She got the best room, the prettiest dresses, the first apology, and every gentle word my parents had to give. I was the older daughter, so I was expected to give in. Then I met Henry Vale. On the night he proposed, he held my hand and told me he would love me for the rest of his life. For the first time, I thought someone had finally chosen me. I thought I had found true love. Until the day I tried on my wedding dress. Nina said she wanted to come with me and help me choose. When I stepped out of the fitting room, I saw her standing in front of Henry, adjusting his tie like she was the one about to marry him. I was about to say, “Let me do it.” But the stylist had already walked toward her with a smile. “The bride, this way, please.” The photographer took ninety-nine photos that day. Every single one was of my sister and my fiancé. Not one showed me, the actual bride. My mother sat on the sofa and smiled. “Nina looks beautiful in white.” My father nodded. “More like a bride than Jocelyn.” Then the photographer lifted his camera and glanced at me from behind the lens. “Miss, could you move a little? You are blocking the light.” I stepped aside in silence and stood against the wall. In that moment, I finally understood. This wedding did not need me. And if the love Henry once promised me could be handed to someone else so easily, then leaving was the only dignity I had left.

When I was at my absolute poorest, I got sucked into some kind of survival game. The challenge was to survive 7 days on just 50 dollars, and the winner would walk away with a million dollars. As someone who might as well be certified as a professional at being broke, I knew exactly how to survive on next to nothing. That prize money had my name written all over it.

My grandfather is a nationally renowned inheritor of an intangible cultural heritage. Today, I'm supposed to attend a grand ceremony as his rightful successor. However, when I arrive, I see my father's adoptive daughter already standing on the stage. She's dressed to the nines. She holds an award and is giving a thank-you speech, looking moved. In the past, I would've left without saying anything or speaking up for myself. Too bad for her that I'd been reborn. The discrepancy between our statuses is so large that we're basically from different worlds. Yet she has the nerve to claim to be my grandfather's successor and put on a show with what is supposed to be my family's.

On International Women's Day, I spent twelve hours straight in a live stream, selling $5 million worth of product. When it came time to settle my commission, my aunt and boss, Sandra Holt, quietly transferred my $400,000 cut into her own account and handed me $500, labeled as a meal stipend. She took my hand with a warm, motherly smile. "Sweetheart, you're still an intern. Taking that much money at your age would hurt your career development. Let me hold onto it for you. Put it toward a car someday." I looked at the sharp calculation behind her kind eyes. I didn't argue. I took the money without a word. That night, I deleted my account and vanished, taking my entire product-sourcing system with me. The next morning, Aunt Sandra stared at a live stream with ten viewers and finally started blowing up my phone.