The Spoiled Brat Life Novels & Stories

The makeshift bandages offered little relief, but I clung to them desperately, hoping that they would stave off the infection long enough for me to find a way out of this nightmare. The guards who brought me food were as cruel as Caleb. They treated me like an animal, hurling insults and threats as they threw scraps of food onto the filthy floor of my cell. There were no plates or utensils; I was forced to eat like an animal, scavenging for sustenance among the filth and decay that surrounded me. Whenever I dared to speak up, to ask for water or some small comfort, they would respond with violence. They kicked and beat me without mercy. I soon learned to keep silent. It was the only way to s

I chuckled, my voice turning ice-cold. “At least I didn’t bribe my professors to pass my exams,” I replied, meeting her gaze directly. “I didn’t waste my family’s money trying to buy my way through school. You’ve failed almost every single class, Claire. Everyone knows it. You’re nothing but a spoiled brat who can’t handle real consequences.” One of Tiffany’s friends looked at Claire with new understanding. “Is that true?” she asked. Claire’s face crumbled. She turned to the girl desperately.

She plans to put this act until he distance himself away from her. I mean who wants to have a bratty wife? No one does. At least that's what she thinks, that's what she saw in her previous film projects. Men hates it when they come across gold diggers most likely spoiled brats. They hate it when their money is used in mindless shopping. "You shouldn't be stubborn, young signorina. Damien will get upset and he will—" Her brow raise challenging her. "Punish me like a kid? Oh please he's too old for that thing. He's not my parent."

She said I needed to look pretty, but I knew she just wanted me to use it to hide my bruises. And so I did. Every day for the past year. Sophia was the worst mother any child could ever dream of having. After my father died, I knew life would become a living hell. He had been my hope. Dad used to tell me I could be anything. Sophia told me I was nothing and eventually stopped fending for me after high school. So I did whatever I could to take care of myself and save enough money to run away from her dirty claws one day. Three thousand, four hundred and twenty dollars.

Did he just call me a spoiled brat? "I didn't call you a spoiled brat but you're behaving like one. So if you don't stand up now and go freshen up, I'll call Catherine and she'll come here and get your lazy ass off the bed. Are you standing up or not?” He says with all seriousness, every trace of amusement gone.

On the day my parents file for bankruptcy, my adopted brother and fake heir, Oliver Bilson, is also diagnosed with leukemia. To earn enough money to pay his medical bills, I brave the snow and winds and continue working even on New Year's Eve. When I hand over the food delivery to the scion, Charlie Jetton, he suddenly knocks the cake over. "Why weren't you more careful when making the delivery?" he demands. "Don't you know that Mr. Bilson spent a million dollars to specifically order this cake for Olly?" I'm about to make a retort when I hear three voices that I'm intimately familiar with coming from within the warm villa. "It's okay. It's the thought that counts, Mom and Dad." The vo

“That was when I realized birthdays weren’t for me. I thought maybe the default was that they were just ordinary days, and everyone else had something extra. I learned to live with it. To grow with it. But no matter how much I tried to ignore it, the difference was always there.” He ran his hand slowly down my arm, holding me close. “They always celebrated my brothers. They gave them everything—the best clothes, the best teachers, even their own cars. I got leftovers. A cracked desk for studying. Hand-me-downs. I heard once that the youngest kids are usually the spoiled ones. But that wasn’t true for me.” “As I got older, it got worse. They stopped pretending altogether. My parents would lea

“I’ve got nothing to pay with. And I haven’t grown what you want yet for adult payment. I won’t suck you off! If you try anything, I’ll bite it off!” the brat blurted out, throwing me into a state of complete fucking shock. “Are you stupid or what?!” I snapped, looking at this walking soup kit. “Do I look like some kind of pervert to you?!” “Who the hell knows,” she mutters indifferently. “It’s a normal thing. You see worse than that on the streets. Rich uncles have their own cockroaches in their heads…”

Some were on the phone, some were crying, and one woman had a security guard by the sleeve and wouldn't let go. "My kid's grades are excellent. What right do you have to keep them out?" "It's just a piece of paper. Would it really have been so hard to make an exception?" "That lunatic Pauline, I'm going to sue her!" I kept my head down and tried to slip around the edge of the crowd, but someone spotted me anyway. "Sienna Ellsworth!" A woman pushed through and blocked my path. It was Liam's mother. In my last life, her son got into one of the top universities, and she bragged about it in the parent group chat for an entire summer.

"Back before you became this brooding mudak who buys restaurants and pretends to be respectable." "I smile." I drain my vodka and immediately pour another. "Just not at your ugly face." Melor snorts with laughter, the sound echoing through my too-large living room. "That's not smiling, bratan. That's grimacing." The banter feels familiar, comfortable in ways I'd forgotten were possible. This is what I missed about having family around— people who knew you before you became whoever you're pretending to be now. People who remember when your biggest concern was whether the neighborhood boys would respect your claim to the best corner for selling cigarettes.