The Breakthrough True Story Novels & Stories

The day I found out I wasn't really an Adelson, Sharon—their real daughter—stormed in and stabbed me—over and over. Just like that, my shot at being a mom? Gone. Chuck Benetton, my fiancé, lost it. My parents swore they'd disown her. To "comfort" me, Chuck proposed on the spot. My parents handed me the severance letter—Sharon officially disowned—and told me to just focus on healing. Later, they said Sharon had run off and gotten trafficked in Nyamara, some hotspot for scams and lost souls. They said it served her right. And yeah... I believed them. Six years into the lie, I saw her—very much alive, baby bump and all, curled up against my husband like she owned him. "If I hadn't snapped back then, Yasmine never would've married you, " she said. "Thank God you and Mom and Dad backed me. Otherwise, that imposter would've landed me in jail. "She probably never guessed I've been right here, carrying your baby. Once I give birth, just fake an adoption. She can nanny our kid forever. "Thanks for everything, Chuck." She smiled like he was her hero. And he blushed. "Don't thank me. Marrying her was the only way to protect you. I'd do it all again." So yeah. The guy I thought loved me? He was always lying. My "parents"? They only cared about Sharon. If that's love, I want nothing to do with it.

On the first day I take my daughter, Layla Gibson, to an elite kindergarten, I'm told that Layla hasn't been admitted to the kindergarten at all. I call my husband, Maverick Gibson, on the spot. After all, he's the one in charge of enrolling Layla in the kindergarten. How is it possible for her to not fit the criteria to be accepted into the kindergarten? In an upset tone, Maverick tells me that the kindergarten has gotten it wrong. "I'm sorry, darling. Our company's assets have yet to reach the minimum requirement that's needed for the kindergarten to accept Layla as a student. "I was worried that you'd be saddened when you found out about this, so I didn't say anything about this. This is my fault for not working hard enough. Because of me, Layla lost to her peers in terms of education." After ending the call, I call my dad, who's actually a board member of the kindergarten. At the same time, I have my lawyer draft a divorce agreement. I'm interested to see which bastard child has taken Layla's spot, which has already been reserved by my dad a long time ago.

My entire family could hear my thoughts. In my previous life, I was switched at birth with Victoria Harrington. I was reunited with my family 18 years later. It was the early 1920s, when owning a bicycle or a radio was still rare for most families. I had always dreamed of having one of those precious things. However, after I came home, Victoria would constantly brag right in front of me. "Mom told me that I'm the only one who deserves this fancy watch," she said with a sweet smile. "And look at this gorgeous bicycle Dad got me for my birthday! Oh, and when I mentioned wanting a radio, Daniel bought it for me immediately." Then came the real knife twist. "I know you're their biological daughter, Bernice, but let's be honest. When it comes to love, I'm their real daughter. Daniel definitely prefers me as his little sister too." Her words ate at me. I could not stop the bitter thoughts that flooded my mind about my parents and brother. The problem was that my family could hear every single one of those thoughts. Slowly, they began to resent me. Eventually, they threw me out into the cold, and I died alone in the winter streets while Victoria lived happily within the warmth of their love. When I opened my eyes again, I realized that I had been reborn. As I watched Victoria putting on her usual show, my thoughts took a delicious turn. 'Victoria thinks that Mom is such a cheapskate for only buying her a cheap watch instead of something expensive. She even calls Dad stingy behind his back because he didn't get her a pricier bicycle.' 'And she constantly complains about how ugly and crude Daniel is, saying that he embarrasses her. I wonder if I should share these thoughts with my family?'

When I was three years old, I was picked on while scavenging dumpsters for recyclables, so I spent fifty cents to “hire” a pair of punk bikers to back me up. Little did I know that I had stumbled into the city’s most untouchable family. My adoptive mother was a fearless street queen no one in the elite circle dared cross, and my adoptive father was the legendary prince of the underground street-racing world. She taught me how to stand my ground, while he taught me how to own the streets. That fifty-cent “protection fee” bought me eighteen years of absolute security. Later, my biological parents found me, and I learned I was the real daughter of the billionaire Sedgewick family. But on the day I returned home, the fake daughter refused to let me inside. She looked down at me with a sneer and told me to use the back door instead. I stayed where I was. My older brother glared at me. “It’s just the back door. Don’t push your luck. You should be grateful Jenna is even willing to acknowledge you.” Meanwhile, my younger brother scoffed, his face twisted with disdain. “How dare a lowlife like you give my sister attitude? Use the back door!” I turned to my biological parents, but they merely said, “Jenna has a temper. She’s upset you came back, so just let her have this. Nothing matters more than keeping the family together.” I looked at the confrontational faces before me without any expression, then took out my phone and typed a message. [Mom, Dad, the Sedgewick family crossed the line. Come and handle it now.]

The most powerful Godfather in the mafia underworld—Dante Costello—had an expensive diamond signet ring custom-made to fit my finger perfectly and sent straight to our home. He said that whoever could wear the ring would become the lady of his family. The Monroe family had long since fallen from grace. All that remained were four women. On ordinary days, we fought endlessly, tearing each other apart. Every single one of us wanted to marry Dante because marrying him meant preserving a life of dignity and comfort. In the first life, the fake heiress, Blair, secretly had the ring resized smaller and married into the family. Dante took one look at her, then had her thrown into the river to drown. “Not her.” In the second life, my cousin, Chloe, underwent plastic surgery to alter her fingers and force the ring on. Dante gifted her a staged car accident. “Still not her.” In the third life, my stepmother, Catherine, clenched her teeth and forced the ring onto her finger. Her blood hadn’t even dried when she married Dante. He coldly slashed her face, then locked her in the basement, where she slowly wasted away until death. By the fourth life, all three of them were terrified. None of them dared to marry him anymore, so they hurriedly pushed me forward instead. I put on the ring. This time, the size was perfect. Just when I thought my good days had finally begun, Dante stabbed me to death on our wedding night, his eyes burning red with madness. After my rebirth, the consigliere of the Dante family delivered the ring once again. This time, all four of us avoided it like the plague.

After writing an essay about the future I wanted, I made a desperate appeal to my parents, just as Aaron Wade was likely doing in the hall of a business his family owned. The appeal lasted two days. Our demand was simple: annul the engagement between us. Others might have found this confusing, but I knew exactly why it mattered. In my previous life, I married Aaron and gave him everything. I devoted my career to him and stood at the peak of his business empire. He repaid me by forcing me to take the fall for Rebecca, a so-called heiress. I was arrested and sent to prison. "Had you not forced us into an engagement the moment you got into Iale University, I would have ended up with her instead," he sneered. "You owe her this, Bernadette. It's time you paid up." Even my own parents joined in. "You robbed Becky of what she deserves. Think of this as your divine retribution!" They had supported the engagement back then. Rage overwhelmed me and triggered a cardiac arrest. I died on the spot. While my body lay cold in the morgue, Aaron and Rebecca held a lavish wedding at a five-star hotel to celebrate their union. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day I had written about the future I wanted. Now I knew what that future looked like. It had none of these people in it. This time, I would live for myself.

After seven years of secretly dating Ross Stockdale, I found a proposal folder hidden in his study. Inside were a seaside dinner plan, a fireworks schedule, and a handwritten vow card. I nearly cried from happiness. I thought Ross was finally going to bring me into the open and give me a home. But on our seventh anniversary, I saw a short video posted by Samora Leone. In the video, the Leone family’s private marina was lit like daylight. Fireworks burst over the water while Samora stood before the family representatives with her arm linked through Ross’s. The caption read: Thank you for loving me all these years. I said yes. The man in the video was Ross. His hand rested on Samora’s waist, and on his finger was the matching silver ring I had designed for him years ago. Everyone believed Samora was the long-lost daughter of the Leone family. They were wrong. The real Leone heir was me.

I caught my fiancé and the fake heiress in the act. They didn’t show an ounce of guilt; the heiress even laughed at me, full of mockery. “What I have isn’t just this,” she said. “Last year, I was bound to the Score-Boosting System. No matter what score you got on the SAT, I was always a little higher. Didn’t you notice?” “Natalie,” Vivian sneered, “as long as I’m around, you’ll never get ahead of me!” Anger surged through me. I wanted to take them down with me, but then a gas explosion struck, and the three of us were reborn at the same moment. I was welcomed back into the Sullivan family. Grandpa Sullivan declared that whoever became the SAT champion would inherit the family fortune. The fake heiress boasted proudly, “Natalie, don’t even try. You’ll always be my stepping stone!” I smiled. “If you’re always a little ahead of me, fine. I’ll just set the highest score in history.”

Three years after being brought back to my family, I jumped off a building. As my soul floated in the air, I wanted to see how my parents and brother, who always despised me, would break down in tears, filled with regret. But my father simply shook his head indifferently and looked at my lifeless body, saying, "How childish." My mother pressed her lips together and sighed in relief, as if a burden had been lifted. My brother stood in front of the fake heiress, shielding her from the gruesome sight of my death. Even so, the fake heiress burst into tears, prompting the whole family to rush to comfort her. I stared in stunned silence for a long time before a bitter smile crossed my face. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the moment I was first brought home.

I'd spent six months saving every penny for prenatal care, but the money vanished overnight. Panicking, I called my fiancé, only to see him on another woman's social media. The man's busy silhouette radiated excitement, with a luxury handbag sitting at the edge of the photo. The caption read: "Mr. Wellington is such a gentleman! Today's happiness starts with snagging the last designer bag at the boutique~" When I came out of surgery, my furious fiancé finally showed up. His first words were an accusation. "Can you stop treating me like I'm on a leash?" "My friend was feeling down, so I bought her a bag and kept her company. What's wrong with that? Why are you so petty!"