Scarpetta Beach Photos の小説・ストーリー

After getting reunited with my family, I become the copycat whom my mom hates the most. Since the fake heiress, Emily Burk, is a student of an Ivy League institution, I got into graduate school in just three months. After Emily decides to return to the country and establish her own business, I spend a year establishing and developing my business to the point that it becomes the biggest retail company that sells female apparel. When Emily gets featured in the news for her feats as a village teacher, I decide to donate tens of millions of dollars in order to secure a spot on the headlines. While my family can't stomach my behavior, they realize that they can't beat me as well. But when I choose to announce my upcoming marriage right after Emily has made her own announcement, my mom, who hasn't contacted me for three years, calls me on the phone immediately. Apparently, she demands that I delete my pre-wedding photos. "It's bad enough that you keep stealing Emi's thunder! I can't believe you actually stole her husband too! What the hell are you up to, Gabriella?" Emily's fake sobs can be heard echoing in the background. "That's enough, Mom. I asked Derek to tell me the truth. He doesn't even know who Gabriella is! She Photoshopped that photo on purpose just to piss me off!" Who's Derek? Also, my husband, Caleb Ingram, is my childhood sweetheart from the orphanage for 18 years! How did he become someone else's husband anyway? But when Gabriella sends me one of her pre-wedding photos, I find out that the groom in that photo looks exactly the same as Caleb. Isn't that a huge coincidence?

The dormitory entrance downstairs is completely blocked. After squeezing to the front row, a he-wolf from the physical training camp next door points and whistles at me. "Look, that's the Luminian vixen. She's famous for being a notch-collector and will do it with any Alpha." My bed is strewn with rotten meat and animal entrails. On the wall, the words "Harlot", "Floozy", and "Tart" are scrawled in bright red lipstick. Jessica Cobb, the blonde-haired, blue-eyed cheer captain, holds up her phone. "Girls, I really don't want to expose her, but she's just filthy," she says with a face filled with contempt. "She's worse than a dog in heat. On Monday, it was the little hottie with the six-pack abs in his Ferrari. "Wednesday, it was the mature Alpha who reeks of cigars and has eyes that look like they want to devour you in his Bentley. Yesterday, it was that old gentleman with the monocle who's into domination in his Rolls-Royce." She shoves the photos right in the faces of the surrounding women. "Clearly, she didn't come here to study, but to find a sugar daddy." Despite the crystal-clear pictures showing me in those cars, I can't reveal that the men with me are my obsessively controlling older brother, my hot-tempered uncle, and my great-uncle. Respectively, they are the Alpha King of Lumin, the Chief Justice, and the Chair of the Elders' Council. The surrounding male werewolves burst into laughter, their eyes roaming over my thighs. "Hey, Luminian doll, how much for one night? I'd like a taste of you too." They have no idea that these men they're fantasizing about as my sugar daddies are actually the werewolf elders they can least afford to mess with in this lifetime.

After praying to the Virgin Mary statue 100 thousand times, my younger sister, Stephanie Harvey, and I have returned to the day we're meant to get reincarnated. In our previous lifetime, Stephanie chose to reincarnate into the womb belonging to Tiara Cromwell, the richest woman in town. As for me, I could only reincarnate into the womb of Lynette Ross, a mistress, seeing as there were too many souls queuing up for their turn. Once we were born, Stephanie was pampered and doted on by Tiara, whereas I kept getting degraded and insulted because I was the child of a mistress. "You're just a lowly bitch with a mistress as your mother! You don't even have the right to lick my shoes for me!" Unexpectedly, our shitty father worked with Lynette to take over Tiara's family business. Tiara went broke overnight and fell from grace. As for me, I transformed into a proper heiress. When Stephanie saw the photos of my grand coming-of-age party on my social media feed, she came knocking on my door and pleaded for my help. "Madison, we're half-sisters, aren't we? Please help me!" I decided to give her some money, seeing as she was my sister. But Stephanie pushed me into the pool, resulting in my drowning. Now that we've both returned to the day we get reincarnated, Stephanie quickly reincarnates into Lynette's womb. I, on the other hand, choose Tiara as my mother. Later on, Stephanie sobs as she takes her own life repeatedly just so she can get another chance to start over again.

The day before the wedding, I go to the bridal shop to pick up my custom wedding dress. The clerk informs me apologetically, "I'm sorry, Ms. Stone. Yesterday, a woman called Ms. Lovelett came and picked up your dress." My best friend, Sherry Lancelot, suddenly remembers something. "Isn't that the surname of your fiance's secretary? He's so thoughtful. He had your dress picked up in advance for you." But in the next second, Mary Lovelett posts a social media update. In her photo, she is wearing my one-of-a-kind custom wedding dress that is worth hundreds of millions and posing coquettishly in front of the camera. The caption reads, "Zachary is the best boss in the world. I casually said I wanted to take some portraits. He generously bought me a globally limited outfit for a photoshoot so that I can take the photos to my heart's desire!" I look at the post and reply coldly, "That's the wedding dress I personally chose for myself. Since when did it become your photoshoot outfit?" The post is deleted instantly. My fiance, Zachary Everdon, calls me angrily. "What nonsense comment was that? I just lent your stupid dress to Mary for a bit. It's a cheap, one-time thing anyway. I can buy you a dozen more to make up for it." I let out a cold laugh and record the call. Then, I send him a screenshot of the 200 million dollars purchase record. I say, "Sure. Will you pay by check or by direct transfer? Hurry up. Once you pay, we're calling off the engagement."

My fiancee, Josephine Carter, tells me she is too busy with work to go home with me for Christmas just yesterday. But today, I find out that she has secretly booked a flight ticket to my hometown. I am delighted. Josephine has always been good at creating surprises during our relationship. I do not expect her to still be doing this now that we have practically been dating for years already. Just as I am about to tell my mom the good news, my stepbrother, Daniel Reed, suddenly announces in the family group chat that he is bringing his girlfriend home for Christmas as well. My relatives immediately start teasing him in the group chat, asking to see the beautiful lady. In the next second, photos of Josephine and him embracing like a couple appear in the chat. Daniel texts, "See? I told you she is gorgeous. Not only that, she's rich too." "Wow. You won the heart of such an amazing woman. That's impressive, Daniel." Daniel replies smugly, "Of course! She is totally in love with me." My breath catches in my throat, and the veins on the back of my hand bulge as I grip my phone. No wonder Josephine says she cannot come home with me after learning I am spending the New Year at my mother's place. She doesn't expect that we will run into each other. I close my eyes for a moment and send her one last message, "I have transferred back the 500 thousand dollars you asked me to manage for our wedding. It's over between us."

Everyone said I was too possessive when it came to my girlfriend, Amanda Crane. When Amanda first started taking photos of her childhood friend, Ian Lewis, I ripped apart all the rolls of film. When she helped him fix his computer, I called her 100 times in an hour. And when he called her from the airport, asking her to pick him up because the rain made it impossible to get a cab, I held a knife to my throat. I told her I'd take my own life if she went to him. Fed up, Amanda shipped me off to a psychiatric hospital that same night. When I got out, I vanished. Amanda was certain I was hiding somewhere, spying on her and Ian, but I never showed up—until the celebration party for a business project three years later. Ian put his arm around Amanda and swirled the wine glass he was holding. He shot me a taunting look, remarking, "You used to get so jealous, Steven. I'm sure you no longer mind if Mandy and I drink from the same glass now, right?" He waited for me to go berserk the way I used to three years ago, but I simply moved the bottle of wine closer to them. "I don't mind at all, of course. Have as many glasses as you want. It's great to see that your relationship has been progressing so well." Amanda paused. Her eyes started to redden. She stared fixedly at me and questioned, "Why don't you feel jealous anymore, Steven?"

I had been married to Derek for six years, and we had a three-year-old son. He was poor, earning only $2,000 a month, but I had no complaints; I took care of everything at home for him. After getting dinner on the table for the whole family, I finally had a minute to check my phone. A video popped up on my feed: a twenty-two-year-old girl from a rural area whose hands, roughened by years of hard labor, looked like they belonged to a sixty-two-year-old woman. I looked down at my own hands, just as worn and scarred, and stared at them blankly before tapping into the comments. I expected people to feel bad for her. However, to my surprise, the comments section was flooded with a single sentiment: "Why would anyone marry a penniless loser?" One of the top-liked comments came from a couple; in their photo, they were pictured holding hands—fingers tightly intertwined—with the girl sporting a massive diamond ring. The accompanying caption read: "A man who truly loves you would never bear to let you suffer." I felt a pang of envy. Given the choice, who wouldn't want a glamorous life? As I was about to close the app, I accidentally tapped on the couple's photo, enlarging it. In the background, previously too blurry to make out, was a face I recognized. It looked exactly like my husband, Derek Sterling. I froze, and almost against my will, I tapped into the account's profile. Post after post of lavish photos of them together flooded my screen. And then I saw him clearly. The scar above his brow, the one he got when a shelf fell on him while protecting me, was still plainly visible. It was my husband. It was Derek.

I'm the type who has the urge to overshare my life with him. It can be anything, be it the flowers blooming by the side of the road, the unpleasant coffee I end up having, or the sunset I've seen when I'm on my way home from work. Heck, when I think of Edwin Howell all of a sudden, I can't resist texting him at all. His replies are always short and perfunctory, though I suppose they count as a form of response from him. Hence, over the past six months, I've relied on these cold-sounding yet present replies to give me enough strength to deal with the engagement party, go wedding gown shopping, and choose the wedding venue all by myself. Somehow, I've managed to hang in there till the week before the wedding. But five days before the wedding, I discover an AI program that's installed within Edwin's computer. It can categorize every single sentence that I've sent to Edwin and extract the keywords. Then, it'll draft the most perfunctory responses that will never go wrong. If I miss Edwin, the AI will reply, "Mm-hmm." If I feel aggrieved, the AI will reply, "Got it." When I try to vent my frustrations to Edwin, the AI will reply, "Don't make such a big deal out of it." It turns out that Edwin isn't the one who has been responding to my need to overshare. The thing is, he has been texting another woman nonstop in another private chat. They talk about anything and everything under the sun, from exchanging simple good mornings and good nights to asking, "What are you having for lunch today?" and "Do you wanna go to the beach someday?" Finally, I realize that Edwin isn't the silent type who keeps his love in. If anything, he's the flashy type who will proclaim his love anywhere, anytime. It's just that… his love has never been mine to have. As for me, I've finally made up my mind to stop spending my life waiting for a response that will never come.

Emma's life was not different than Cinderella's, she was punished by her stepmother and sister. And only a prince charming could change her life. For five years, Emma lived in Charlotte Miller’s shadow—forced to play her double, smile for her photos, write her speeches, and disappear the moment the spotlight hit. She was paid to be silent, obedient, and forgettable. Until the night everything shattered. Her heart. Her pride. And her place as Charlotte’s puppet. They forced her into a marriage with Xeros Martinez—a dangerous billionaire heir of the Martinez empire and a man who makes danger feel like desire. She was a substitute bride for him, and the only thing she expected from him was coldness and rejection. But what she didn't expect was his intervention when Charlotte's mother was about to whip her. "How dare you touch my vanilla?" He growled like thunder. "Try it again—and I'll remind you why people fear my name." Their marriage may have begun as a business arrangement, but the heat between them refuses to be ignored. Because later, when she tried to avoid the heat burning between them, he dropped his towel with a smirk, “Scrub my body, wife.” She hesitated. “W-Will I…?” He stepped closer, water dripping down his chiseled chest. “Isn’t that what a wife does?” And when her fingers brushed against his skin, he leaned in, voice low and wicked: “Tell me… do you think I’m sexy?” She mumbled a breathless yes. “What was that?” he asked, teasing. She shook her head, flustered. So he grabbed her waist and smashed his lips onto hers, stealing the truth straight from her mouth.

When Rocco Morelli, a mafia don, finds me, it's when I'm working as a stripper at an illegal bar, pleasing the men around me with sultry smiles and provocative dances. He throws his jacket over me and grabs me by the jaw, saying, "Come home with me." From that day onward, I fell in love with Rocco. After doting on me for five years, he proposes to me. Yet, in the month leading up to the wedding, he suddenly disappears. I launch a frenzied search for him before eventually seeing him in a jewelry boutique. With his arm wrapped around the dolled-up woman beside him, he picks out a 20-carat wedding ring. That woman is Emilia Leone, who is my father's illegitimate daughter. He stares at her, his eyes filled with affection. "I'll prepare the grandest wedding ceremony for you." "What about Cassandra?" Emilia asks with a coy smile. "You proposed to her, too." Snorting, Rocco replies scornfully, "Can't you tell? That's just my way of toying with her. Her older brother nearly took your life. Now that he's gone missing, it's only right for her to suffer the consequences in his place. "On our wedding day, I'll abandon her at the altar and marry you instead. She'll become the laughingstock in all of Langshore. Only you, the daughter of the Leone family, the largest mafia family, are worthy of me." The wedding day arrives, and I skip out on the ceremony as well. At Rocco and Emilia's wedding ceremony, I broadcast 99 photos of Emilia fooling around with other men. He panics and tearfully begs for me to return to him, but I take the gun my brother hands me and point it at his head, saying, "Actually, I'm the real daughter of the Leone family."