Plot Twists

After my 99th failed confession of love to Jim, my parents grounded me for two weeks. "You've embarrassed yourself enough over that illegitimate son from the Larson family," they snapped. "Has he ever even spared you a proper glance?" "Stay home and reflect. We've already arranged your marriage to the Shaw family. The wedding will be in two weeks." However, I didn’t give up. I was so determined to see Jim, no matter what. Only to walk in on him locked in a deep kiss with his precious first love in a private room. "Jim, you really know how to play," one of his friends laughed. "If the Cunningham family's heiress catches you like this, she'll probably lose her mind again." "Seriously, you've turned Ella down so many times, and now that she's grounded, you haven't even sent her a message. Aren't you afraid she'll finally give up on you?" Jim just scoffed with disdain and said calmly, "What's there to be afraid of? Everyone in the capital knows Ella is obsessed with me. Who else would want her but me?" "If I hadn't needed her to get back into the Larson family, I never would've postponed my engagement to Rowena in the first place."

On the Northwind Trail, just before sunrise, my flashlight cut across the inside of the SUV and landed on five lifeless bodies. My hands shook as I dialed 911. "Hello? I'm on Route 296, the Northwind Trail. Everyone in my car… is dead." The operator's voice was calm but quick. "Please confirm your location. Officers are on their way." My words dropped heavy and flat, like stones hitting the ground. "I'm on Route 296, about three miles east of the mountain pass. The plate number is NA318X. Five people inside the car are dead… and I'm the only one alive."

Disaster struck during my sophomore year.  Not only did my family fall into poverty, I ended up getting diagnosed with cancer as well. I was so broke that I only had a hundred dollars left to my name. Desperate for cash, I tried to pawn off the family amulet I had been wearing since I was a child. Unexpectedly, the storekeeper of the pawn shop took a glance before refusing it with a curt shake of his head. “This amulet is cursed. Whoever wears it is doomed to lead a short life. I can’t possibly take it.”

My wife was gone for 6 months on a business trip. The day she returned, however, she was not alone. Hand in hand, my wife showed up with her lover—my client. This was not even the worst part—she was also 3 months' pregnant. My client, in all his beer-bellied arrogance, hurled the contract at my feet, smirking. "Mr. Carter, your wife has gone to so much trouble for this partnership. Truth be told, I would never, not even in a million years, have agreed to partner with you if it wasn't for her!" My wife caressed her pregnant belly and said smugly, "I was the one who successfully got Mr. Lewis' business! I'll let you have it, though, as long as you agree to get a divorce!" I tore the contract into shreds and roared, "You want a divorce? Fine! I'll give it to you, but I'll never sign this!"

My roommate had a peculiar knack for pestering everyone into liking her posts on social media, all so she could collect enough likes to claim some prize or another. It was her way of life—nagging, nudging, and guilting us into clicking that little thumbs-up. One time, the campus beauty queen liked my roommate's ad for a facial mask. Not long after, she was in a horrific car accident. The vehicle caught fire, and her face suffered severe burns, leaving her disfigured beyond recognition. Meanwhile, my roommate seemed to undergo a miraculous transformation, her complexion turning porcelain fair and flawless as though she'd been kissed by the heavens. Then there was the academic prodigy, a shoe-in for graduate school, who liked her tutoring service post. Shortly after, he was exposed for academic fraud, and his once-brilliant reputation was reduced to ashes. Strangely enough, my roommate's research paper suddenly won an award, catapulting her to fame and fortune. And me? I fell into her trap too. I liked her rental agency ad, and before I knew it, my world crumbled. A scandal erupted, revealing that I was the result of a mix-up at birth. It turned out she was the long-lost child of wealth and privilege—a hidden gem cast into the rough, now reclaimed by her rightful family. As for me, I was packed off to the countryside village she had escaped from and forced into a brutal marriage with an old man. My life became a living hell, and eventually, I died there, broken and forgotten. But fate wasn't done with me yet. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day my roommate begged me to like her post in exchange for yet another prize.

On our wedding day, my bride insists on wearing an old, beat-up watch with the million-dollar wedding dress I buy her. I call off the wedding on the spot. She looks at me in shock. "You called off the wedding just because of a watch?" I take out the divorce agreement and tell her to sign. "Yes. Because of that watch." Everyone calls me crazy. They cannot believe I would end a ten-year relationship over something so worthless and file for divorce in front of everyone. Dad walks up and slaps me across the face. "Get on your knees, you disgrace." My mother-in-law shrieks that I have ruined her daughter's future by returning her like damaged goods. I look at the watch on her wrist, which is stopped at 3:07, and I smile. Then, I phone my assistant. "It's time. Release everything. I want a divorce."

Seavora City, Carmoria. Nathan Ziegler's side chick, Sophie, was melting down—again. He shoved the divorce papers at me. "Just sign. It's for show. Gotta keep her calm." I clutched my dress, gave a small nod, and signed. No fuss. No scene. As I turned to leave, one of his buddies snorted, "Joelle's way too obedient. Bet she'd fetch the divorce decree if you asked." Nathan lit a cigarette, smirking. "Wanna bet?" To them, I was still the silent pushover. The girl who'd cry in court but still do what she's told. Trade one paper for another—marriage for divorce. I stared at my phone. The message I'd received earlier: [Why don't you just marry me?] I typed back: [Okay.]

At my engagement party, my cousin drugged herself and tearfully begged me to lend her my fiance for one night, so I sent the Eastons' youngest son, who had always had a thing for her, on her way. When Erin woke up and realized it wasn't my fiance, she killed herself out of shame and despair. My fiance didn't blame me; he treated me as he always had. Ridden with guilt, I took care of Erin's mother after her death. But on my wedding day, my groom turned husband had me drugged and threw me to beggars. "Erin suffered like this back then," he said coldly. "You can atone for her pain with that filthy body of yours." And so, on my wedding night, I was violated to death—with a baby in my belly. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to that night when Erin tearfully begged me to give my fiance to her.

It was about time because my dad got a new girlfriend and said he wanted us to have a meal together to introduce the new woman into our lives. On the day we met, my college roommate saw my chat background, which had a photo of me and my dad, along with a series of transfer records. She lost her mind. She enlisted the support of our other roommates, who rarely paid me any attention and began to attack me, insisting that I was a side chick who deserved to die. I did not expect that my roommate would soon become my stepmom. Before I could explain, she accused me of trying to seduce my dad behind her back, shouting, "Shameless side chick! Going behind my back to seduce my boyfriend! All those times you said you were out studying?! Who knows if you were just meeting up with him?" I was once physically assaulted, stripped of my dignity, and forced to the restaurant for a public confrontation wearing ragged clothes. Then my dad came running to where I was hardly breathing and barely moving on the floor, bruised to the extreme. “Sweetheart, who did this to you?!”

After being chosen by a horror game, I took over a food stall in a small town. A ghoul tried to eat me, his huge, bloody mouth a gaping maw, but I quickly shoved a focaccia sandwich into it. He chewed and then said, “Oh, forget it. With food to eat, I’ll kill her tomorrow.” The next day, I made delicious pierogies, then skewers and stews. All the ghouls who stopped by gave up on trying to kill me, focusing on eating instead. The audience watching me was shocked that I could survive all the way to the end with just my cooking.