Masked Emotions Novels & Stories

When I'm about to apply for medical insurance for my son, Connor Sawyer, who's about to start his first year in kindergarten, I'm told that I'm not his biological father at all. "Are you sure this is your son? The system shows that his father is an entirely different person." I don't respond at all. Instead, I secretly take a photo of the unfamiliar-looking address before tracking it down. It turns out that it's actually a residential area right by my own. The moment my wife, Giselle Lambert, sees me, she freezes momentarily. At the same time, she blocks the door subconsciously with her hand. "In the end, you still found out about the truth. But there's no use kicking up a fuss, you know. I never mistreated you in any way over the past three years, after all." When I notice the familiar figure standing behind Giselle, I feel my limbs going cold. That person is actually my younger brother, Vincent Sawyer, who has just graduated from college. Vincent hands Giselle a glass of water before smiling at me apologetically. "Don't blame me, Hayden. The doctor says that I'm severely depressed, so I can't handle hearing a child's cries at all. I'm really thankful to you for raising Connor on my behalf in the past few years." At that moment, Connor, who's supposed to be waiting for me in my car, rushes into the apartment. He runs into Vincent's arms happily before turning to look at me. "Don't cry, Uncle Hayden. Daddy says you're a good person, so he's asked you for help. Mommy tells me that if I call you 'daddy' in your home, I'll get to visit my real daddy during the weekends."

My mom gave birth to a pair of twins. While I lived with my grandma in the countryside since young, my younger sister, Katrina Coffey, got to live with our parents. I only got to live with my family after I got into a high school in the city. I thought I'd be able to experience what it feels like to be loved by my family. What I didn't know was that this would be the start of my nightmares. My family alienated me, treating me as though I were an outsider. My status was even lower than that of Katrina's dog. Later on, Katrina forcibly stuffed a piece of mango, which I was allergic to, into my mouth. Her excuse was that she wanted to help me get rid of my allergy. I tried to plead with my parents for help with great difficulty, but they merely glanced at me icily. "What's with the complaints? Are you saying that we can't have mangoes anymore because of you from now on?" "What allergy? All you have to do is eat more mangoes, and you'll be fine!" What they didn't know was that people actually die from severe allergies.

For three agonizing years, my mother struggled with kidney failure. Finally, after all the waiting and the constant dialysis, she was next in line for a transplant. Hope seemed so close. But then, my husband, Zachary Levi, an esteemed nephrology professor, did the unforgivable. He surreptitiously gave his lover's mother the kidney that was intended for my mother. He said almost dismissively, "Ella's mother couldn't wait any longer. Your mother's been on dialysis for so long, she's not going to die anytime soon." Later, my mother passed away. I called Zachary one final time. Yet, it was a woman who answered. "Margaret, right? Zachary's in the shower. Is there something you need?" I stared at my mother's smile on the gravestone, and an overwhelming emptiness spread through me. "It's nothing. Just wanted to talk about the divorce."

My birthday present this year is a written contract titled 'Behavioral Reform Contract'. My fiance, who was the mafia head Matteo Giovanni, and my parents have already signed their names at the bottom. Together, they had me sent to the Behavioral Correction Center. … The windows are always shut, and the sunlight is filtered through the metal window bars. They drug, reprimand, and ostracize me to make me shove my feelings of aggrievement down. Even while I am being humiliated and punished, they teach me to force a smile and maintain a steady breath. It was all done in the name of "treating" me. A year passes, and I go from being a so-called "troublemaker" to their ideal version of me—quiet, elegant, and utterly perfect. Matteo beams at me and says, "You've finally become my perfect wife. We can finally marry." I match his smile, a gesture that they think means obedience from my part. However, it is not true. It is just me bidding my farewell before I leave for good. There's something I don't understand, however. They constantly found me lacking, so now that I am gone from their lives, why are they falling apart?

My family was attacked by rogue wolves when we entered their territory. My wolf was gravely injured, and in the end, I was the one who saved everyone.
As I collapsed, exhausted, no one came to me—they all ran to my adopted sister, Fiona, fussing over a few shallow scratches.
By the time pack members carried me to the infirmary, the healer delivered the cruel news: my wolf had been struck by a silver dagger, and the one-month-old pup in my womb wouldn’t survive.
Yet my mate, Luke, had given the only life-saving treatment to Fiona. With no other choice, I refused the healer’s remedies and numbed my wolf’s pain with crude herbs—knowing it would only buy us three days before death.
In those last days, I let everything go. I gave Fiona all my possessions and insurance money while my parents smiled in approval. I signed the bond-severing agreement Luke slid across the table without a second thought. Luke was satisfied, believing I was considerate. Kane, my brother, nodded his head when I told him to give my room to Fiona.
Even my son, Jim, squealed with joy when I asked him to call her “mom.” No one questioned why I gave all my belongings to Fiona, and their approving gazes said it all: “Good. The old Emma is back. But as the clock ticked down, one thought haunted me:
When they find our bodies—my wolf and my unborn pup—will that satisfaction turn to regret?

Ever since I can remember, I was Nina's blood bank. Nina was like a glass princess. One sneeze and she could break. She needed blood all the time just to stay okay. Mom had her tubes untied just to have me to save Nina. My arms were always full of needle marks. Mom and Dad looked at me like they felt bad. "Chloe, you're a good girl. Nina's sick. She doesn't mean it when she gets mad. Be patient with her." I made myself smile. "I know. You can take more. I'm not scared." They turned away and cried. I thought if I stayed good and didn't complain, they'd love me someday. Then I won first place in a painting contest. Nina ripped the bandage off her hand and started crying. "Why are you showing off? Why am I the sick one? I hate you!" Mom shoved me to the ground. "Your sister can't even go to school. What are you bragging about some dumb paper for? How can you be this mean? Why couldn't you be the sick one?" Dad carried Nina out. He didn't look at me. I ran after the car all the way to the hospital. I only heard the doctor say, "Without a full blood replacement, she won't make it three months." I looked at my arm. 'Nina, please don't hate me anymore. If I give you my life, will that be enough?'

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…

Ever since I decide to repeat my senior year due to me not doing well in my SATs, Mom views me as the biggest pain in her ass. After all, I have the potential to get into a prestigious university, and yet my grades are only good enough for me to land a spot in a regular university. To her, it's extremely humiliating. Mom often looks at me with red-rimmed eyes. "Natalie Jones, after your father cheated on me, I raised you all by myself. If you don't succeed in life, you're basically forcing me to die." She did what she said. If I don't get a perfect score in Math, Mom won't hesitate to jump into a river. If I don't emerge as the top student of the year, she will slit her wrist. I'm worried that Mom might commit more outrageous antics, so I explain to her tentatively, "The truth is, I'm sick…" Without even bothering to look at me, Mom continues speaking to me coldly. "You'd rather curse yourself than study. "I've enrolled you into a prep academy so that you can learn how to be a perfect daughter, not the filthy liar you're being right now." I can only clutch the report that states I have late-stage brain cancer in my hand. Later on, I use the remaining seven days in my life on attending the course that will apparently teach me how to become Mom's perfect daughter.

In order to stop me from spending money recklessly, my mom has exchanged my college living expenses into coupons. If I need to buy anything, I must buy it online. Also, I need to send a copy of my expenses sheet and the details behind said expenses to my mom so that she can check everything thoroughly. Only when she's given me her permission can I buy that item. When I tell my mom I want to buy a shirt, she tells me, "I remember you could still wear that shirt back in your high school days. You should just stick with it. Why waste your money on new clothes?" During winter, I can only wear the old sweater I've been wearing since my high school times while huddling in a corner of my dorm and nibbling on a sandwich. Meanwhile, my mom smugly posts a picture of the six-thousand-dollar dress she has just bought on her social media feed. "What a beautiful dress!"

In my past life, my husband brought our daughter, who was down with a cold, to his father's hospital so she could see a doctor. Later, she was pronounced dead. When I hurried to the hospital after hearing the news, he'd already transferred her organs to his true love's son's body. It was later that I learned my father-in-law was the one who extracted my daughter's organs when her vitals were perfectly fine. I was heartbroken and devastated. I wanted my husband and his family to give me an explanation for this, but he and his parents killed me by poisoning. When I open my eyes again, I'm back to the moment my husband has just taken my daughter away.