Kamui Woods Face の小説・ストーリー

Evangeline has it all, the looks, the money, the men. She was unstoppable and took anything and everything she wanted with a smile on her face. The men adore her and the women yearned her friendship in secret even the most jealous of hearts. But will everything change at the appearance of a poor, part-timer, nerdy man?

Due to the change in my work location, I'd already informed Paul Miller, my part-time helper, to look for a job elsewhere three months ago. Back then, Paul had agreed to do so immediately. But when I'm about to move out of my old home, he made an absurd request to me. "I've spent so many years working for you to the bone. According to this industry's rules, you have to take care of me for the rest of my life. But if you refuse to do that, you can pay me a pension of ten thousand dollars every month." I'm stunned, to say the least. Did I hire a part-time helper, or did I find myself a financial burden instead? I turn Paul down immediately, so he decides to take a step back. "If you don't want to pay me, then give me this house of yours. I can't just leave without anything, right? It'll just show how petty of an employer you are. If not, I'll humiliate you in the group chat!" Fury floods my senses immediately. Fine. Let's see who will get humiliated here!

Late that night, I was scrolling through social media when my finger slipped, and I liked a rant that said, "No women would like to date Aries men." A few minutes later, Rachel Lewis, my ex-boyfriend's current girlfriend, flooded my private messages. [Stop trying to get Marcus's attention with these pathetic little tricks.] [You already broke up.] [A decent ex stays dead.] [You're damaging Marcus's reputation.] [I'll give you one chance to delete it.] [Otherwise, you'll face the consequences.] I laughed. I had broken up with Marcus Gibson, my Aries ex-boyfriend, three years ago. [I dumped that piece of trash out three years ago. I don't care if you picked him up and started treating him like a treasure, but stop acting like someone's trying to steal him from you every day.] That pushed Rachel completely over the edge. She sent me an Excel spreadsheet right away. [Fine. Since you're so over him, pay back every cent Marcus spent on you while you were dating. Otherwise, that proves you still want him.] I looked at the bill. Eighty-seven cups of coffee, eighteen movie tickets, that sad bouquet of roses he bought me for Valentine's Day, and even the chamomile tea he bought me when I was having my period... [The total is 4,300 dollars. If you don't transfer the money within three days, I'll make sure the whole internet knows who you are.] I stared at it, stunned. Then, I ignored the madwoman. The next day, my social media exploded.

My five-year marriage with Alexander was like a couture gown, ripped to shreds. "I want Victoria to show your collection for the New York Fashion Week spring preview." My husband Alexander's voice cut through the sketch I was working on. I stopped drawing. I must have heard him wrong. "What did you say?" "Victoria is new. She needs a platform. Your new spring collection is the perfect springboard for her." "You're a showstopper every year. What's the harm in giving her one shot?" he asked, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "Besides, the brand needs new blood." I stared at the man I'd spent five years with. Suddenly, his face looked sharp, unfamiliar. "Do you have any idea how many nights I've stayed up working on this collection? And you want to give it to some new assistant?" "Evelyn, don't be so petty. It's just a preview." His expression turned cold. "I've already decided." I clenched my fists, a thousand emotions churning inside me. Fine. If you're going to treat me like this, don't blame me for leaving you.

My computer suddenly froze. The next second, my sister, Josie Bennett, appeared on the screen, covered in blood. Her face was white with terror as she screamed, “Nina, help me!” I looked at the pack of entities behind her, and my heart lurched. How had she gotten into a horror game? And an S-rank instance, no less. I had no time to think. I teleported in immediately. The moment I arrived, I saw a girl stomping on Josie, yanking her hair as she looked down at her with smug contempt. “You little brat. Still trying to call for help? Do you even know whose turf this is? Once you cross me, nobody can save you.” The players beside her quickly chimed in. “Exactly. Winnie is the woman of the top guy in this game. If you want to make it out alive, you’d better learn your place.” I stopped in my tracks, stunned. The top guy’s woman? Wasn’t I the final boss of this horror game?

My cousin, Leroy Huff, is bringing his new girlfriend, Jodie Collins, home for the first time ever. At the dining table, everyone chats with each other animatedly. Suddenly, Jodie stares at my face intensely before pretending to be shocked. "Have I seen you before, Isabelle? You're a member of a high-class escort group, aren't you? I've seen your price list on the group chat's photo album before. I think… you were charging only 200 dollars per night, right?" After she's done speaking, she pretends to cover her mouth while looking all pure and innocent. All noise and chatter fade away instantly. My relatives turn to look at me in disdain. "She looks so prim and proper at first glance, but to think that she's actually involved in such business…" "You bring nothing but shame to the Huff family! Don't ever tell anyone else that you know us!" Enraged, my dad smashes his wine glass. Meanwhile, my mom just wipes her tears away quietly. But I dab my mouth with a napkin slowly before shooting Jodie a half-smile. "It's normal for you to think of me as familiar-looking. After all, I'm a member of the vice squad. Last month, I just arrested you after a stakeout."

In my past life, I walked away from an invitation to the elite Academy just to take the fall for Luca. He held my hand, swearing he’d get me out. Swearing he’d keep me safe for the rest of my life. Instead, I rotted in a cell until I died. While I was bleeding out on the cold floor, Luca was marrying the Don’s daughter, living the high life. When I opened my eyes, I was back. Luca was sixteen again, face pale as a sheet, shoving a bloody gun into my hands. "Elena, you're a lifesaver." I slapped the piece away. "Dream on. I ain't taking the rap for you this time."

On Christmas Day, eight months pregnant, I struggled through the kitchen,cooking for my husband and his secretary. When I finally sat down, hoping to taste a piece of turkey I didn’t even get during Thanksgiving, my husband shoved me aside like I was nothing. He slid the turkey in front of his secretary instead. “Alison,you’re already so fat. Stop eating. Let Daisy have it—she deserves to enjoy your cooking.” Daisy，chewing on the turkey I had painstakingly prepared, had the audacity to mock me under the guise of playing truth or dare with my child. “So, what do you think your mom looks like?” “Mommy looks like a fat pig on a farm!” “Her stretch marks? They’re like disgusting worms crawling all over her. Even Santa would run for his life!” Their laughter erupted like daggers piercing me from all sides. Humiliation and rage burned through me as my dignity was stripped bare. I demanded an apology from that vile woman, but my husband—my husband!—turned his cold, cruel face toward me and said, “Get out of here.” Pregnant, exhausted, and humiliated, I stood there in shock. Then I snapped. I grabbed the Christmas cake and turkey and threw them in the trash. I walked out without looking back. This wretched family doesn’t deserve a second of my effort or a single ounce of my love!

On the night before the wedding, my fiancé’s female best friend, Marisol Vance, sent me a set of photos. In the photos, she wore the custom haute couture wedding gown I had commissioned, leaning into Lucian Drake’s arms, with a caption meant to provoke me: [Borrowing your groom and your dress for a moment—after all, Lucian said I look better in this than you do.] Soon after, my social feed was flooded with their so-called wedding photos. In the images, the two of them staged a mock kiss, the caption reading: [More than friends, not quite lovers. If we had been born ten years earlier, there would have been no place for anyone else.] I held up the photos and confronted Lucian, yet he played his game indifferently, then tossed his phone aside, his face full of impatience. “I told you, it was just for fun—a way to commemorate our youth. Can you stop acting like a shrew? She was just diagnosed with depression. What’s wrong with me comforting her?” Looking at his self-righteous expression, I smiled. “Fine. Since your bond is so unbreakable, I won’t play the villain.” That very night, I drafted a withdrawal agreement and halted the arrangements I had been making with a top-tier overseas medical team for his mother. “The wedding is off. Don’t expect me to keep patching up your bankrupt company, and don’t expect me to save your mother either. “Your youth is precious—I hope you can afford to pay the price to keep it so.”

Drenched in mud, I've just climbed down the scaffolding and started munching on a cold piece of stale bread when a luxury car speeds past me, effectively drenching me in muddy water. The car window on the driver's side is quickly lowered. A sleazy guy hurls a pack of cigarettes in my face the next moment. "Hey, peasant! This is a reward for you! I got really lucky today, after all!" While I pick up the cigarette pack silently, the man happens to be boasting loudly to the woman sitting in the front passenger seat. "My brother-in-law really is an idiot! He seriously thinks that my sister has a terminal disease! He went to the black market last night night just to sell his blood in exchange for 200 thousand dollars' worth of surgical fees! I end up winning double in the casino with that money of his! "My sister told me that once that idiot gets his hands on the work injury compensation, she'll divorce him right away and buy me a new home!" I grip the bread so hard that it crumples in my hand. After all, my wife, Estella Wilson, was just diagnosed with "late-stage stomach cancer" yesterday. Suddenly, I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. It's a voice message from Estella. "Hubby, it hurts so much going through the chemotherapy! The doctor told me that I'd be eligible for better medication if we could cough up another 200 thousand dollars. Can you please plead to the foreman and borrow some money from him?"