Multiple Pov Twists

My father, Benjamin Ward, was bedridden, paralyzed, and unable to move. The AI model he spent his entire life developing—a model powerful enough to cure terminal diseases—had been stolen and published under someone else's name. Humiliated beyond endurance, he suffered a stroke and collapsed. He couldn't speak. He couldn't even write. I swore I'd find the thief who destroyed him. My girlfriend, Maris Dawn, wept and promised to help me uncover the truth. But at a dinner party, when her first love proudly announced that he'd been specially recruited by a national research lab thanks to that very model, she immediately grabbed my arm, whispering, "Don't make a scene. Grayson just wants a good future. Don't ruin his life." Grayson Vale smirked with disdain. "The old man was about to retire anyway. Think of it as recycling waste." My vision went red. I charged at him, ready to make him pay for what he'd done to my father. Maris tripped me before I could reach him. She threw a check for ten million in my face. "Here's for your dad's medical care. Don't be shameless, alright? Grayson is a rising star. You're just a broke grad student. You should learn your place." I tore the check apart, piece by piece. That check could never buy the Dawn family a future in the world of science.

After an 800-meter run, I hide under the blanket to use the vibrating massager. At that moment, Uncle Theo barges into my room and asks coldly, "Does it feel that good?" I nod vigorously. The massage really does feel wonderful. Later, he yanks off his tie and uses it to bind my wrists. "It's too small and slow. Try me instead." I can only stare at him in bewilderment. But Uncle Theo, it's just a massage gun!

Six years after marrying Rhiannon Westley, she takes a lover. He's like a puppy—timid and clingy. He flinches at the slightest raised voice, so Rhiannon never loses her temper in front of him. But when he acts up in front of me, Rhiannon snaps. She's furious, and she gives him a harsh scolding. The next day, he sends me a photo of his neck covered in red marks. "Zane, Ms. Westley is so fierce..."

The night before our wedding, my fiancée let her so-called "best friend" butcher the gown my late mother had sewn, chopping it into a revealing mini dress. I rushed over with the ruined dress in my arms, ready to demand answers: only to catch their voices through the door: "Imagine him expecting me to wear something a dead woman stitched. What a curse!" Through the narrow gap, I saw my distant, frigid fiancée flushed with color, straddling his lap. "What we did at the bridal shop wasn't enough," she murmured. "Tomorrow, walking down the aisle in this tiny dress you made me, it'll be even more exhilarating." Their lips met. My hand froze against the door, and inside, something broke with a soundless crack. If she longed for thrills, I would grant her some.

The cold seawater engulfs me, its relentless pull dragging me into the abyss. I kick desperately, my lungs burning, but the surface drifts farther and farther away. "Save me, Kane… save our child…" Pain lances through my body as I clutch my stomach, shielding the fragile life within me. The child I never thought I'd have, the child who was supposed to be our blessing. Through the watery haze, I see Kane Porter standing on the jagged cliffs above the shore. His tall, commanding figure is framed by the moonlight, his golden eyes burning with hatred. The alpha of the Nightfall Pack, the man who once whispered my name with reverence, now looks at me like I'm filth beneath his feet. His voice cuts through the roaring waves, sharp and merciless. "Don't think I don't know what you've done, Selene." The currents tug me deeper. My strength wanes, but his words stab deeper than the water ever could. "You drugged me with a philter, hoping to make me mark you—hoping to force your way into the position of my Luna. Because of your selfishness, Arya is gone. You destroyed her mind, pushed her into madness!" A shadow of despair twists across his face, but it vanishes beneath pure fury. "She fell from that cliff because of you." I shake my head, but I can’t speak. The sea is swallowing my voice. "Do you know what it’s like to wake up every day in torment? To live knowing the woman I loved died because of you?" His eyes glint like a wolf ready to tear out his prey's throat. "I want you to feel every ounce of that pain. I want you and your cursed child to die with her." The waves crash above me, and darkness claws at the edges of my vision. When I open my eyes again, I'm taken back to the day Kane's philter takes effect. He approaches me, his face flushed and his breathing rapid. He's already undone his buttons. "Hang on, Kane. Arya will be here soon!" I back away and open the door behind me. Then, I run off.

I loved him with all my heart but I only received pain and betrayal. The door didn't open. I tried multiple times but the door never opened. Anger rushed inside my veins. I turned back only to see Dylan standing there on the spot, his eyes glued on the shining marble floor. "DYLAN, OPEN THE DOOR!! LET ME GO!!" I yelled furiously as I glared him with pure hatred and disgust. "Never", he mumbled in an inaudible voice. My blood boiled seeing his audacity still I calm myself down and looked at him in anger. "Why?", I gritted. He finally looked at me. His eyes turned darker as he smirked menacingly. "Because you're my wife, Evelyn Black" This story deals with the struggles of Evelyn Clarke, an intelligent and innocent girl who tries to stand for herself as she gets betrayed by the love of her life Dylan Black when she comes to know about his dark, cruel intentions behind their marriage....

The underprivileged student I've been sponsoring suddenly shows up at my birthday party, swaggering in and waving around a pregnancy report. "Look—Pheebs is pregnant with my baby! You'd better be smart and divorce her already!" I point at the report, stunned and confused. "Are you sure it's Phoebe who's pregnant with your child?" Victor Thompson, my beneficiary, smirks proudly as he fiddles with the pregnancy report. "Duh! We conceived the baby last month on our cruise trip!" The entire room falls into a stunned silence. My ex-wife, Phoebe Jackman, has been dead for three years.

Ang life trial system na “If You Think You Can Do Better, Prove It” ay sumabog sa eksena na parang isang naglalakbay na circus na nagpapangako ng magagandang bagay. Ang ideya ay plain. “Kung sa tingin mo ang buhay ng ibang tao ay magulo at tingin mo kaya mong mas gawin ito ng maganda, sige at patunayan mo. May reward na naghihintay kung magawa mo.” Bago ko mapagtanto, ang buong pamilya ko na tinuturing akong hanggal sa gitna ng palabas. Nandyan ang ina ko, nangangarap na gawin akong inahin. Ang asawa ko, na naglaan ng mga taon umiiwas sa nararapat na hati ng bigat ng pamilya. At ang anak kong lalaki, naaawa pag nakikita ako. Tinulak nila ako sa “judgement seat” na para bang kontrabida sa isang kwento. Bawat isa sa kanila ay sumumpa, sa pwesto ko, maayos nila ang buhay ko kaysa sa kaya ko. Ang pusta? Well, kung magawa nila ito, ang consciousness ko ay mabubura—mawawala, binura na parang pagkakamali sa chalkboard—at gagawin nilang personal na katulong. Dagdag pa dito, maglalakad sila palayo ng may isang milyong dolyar. Pero kung hindi nila magawa? Kung gayon ako ang siyang makakakuha ng tatlong milyong dolyar. Ngayon iyan ay pustahang kaabang abang, hindi ba?

At the staff meeting, I was singled out and criticized by the supervisor. The supervisor said that someone had reported issues with my work attitude and demanded an immediate explanation. My face was displayed on the big screen at the meeting, subjected to public scrutiny. Just as I was feeling overwhelmed, the face of our boss appeared in my camera frame."Tell me what’s the problem.”

With a bag of vegetables gifted by the previous tenant in hand, I was on my way to collect rent from the third household when I unexpectedly ran into someone at the entrance of the community. The man frowned, his eyes fixed on the vegetables I carried, as though he couldn't fathom how I had ended up like this after leaving him. Following his gaze, I instinctively shifted the vegetables behind my back. My eyes dropped to the muddy water on the pavement, and I never would have imagined bumping into my ex-boyfriend—the one who had grown up with a silver spoon—in this aging neighborhood. He noticed my movement, and for a moment, something flickered in his expression: a mix of pity and recognition. "Since you've already learned your lesson," he said, "come back with me." At his words, I instinctively stepped back half a pace. "Who said I'm going back with you?" My rejection seemed to sting, darkening his face. "I know you're still blaming me for giving Rachel a child," he muttered, "but it's been three years. Isn't it time to stop? As long as you come back, we can be the same as before." Three years, huh? How quickly time had passed. Thinking of my little girl at home, still babbling her first words, I couldn't help but smile and shake my head. "Let's leave it at that. Go home and live your life with Rachel. My daughter's waiting for me to go back and make her food."