Troublesome Trucks Face Novels & Stories

At our wedding, Toby Webb, the impoverished student my fiancee, Elvira Britton, has been sponsoring, barges into the venue while wailing at the top of his lungs. "Elvira, a wasp has stung me down there! Does this mean I won't be able to…" Elvira doesn't hesitate to ditch all the guests and me in favor of whisking Toby away. I quickly grab her wrist and suggest to her that we should finish the ceremony first before finding a doctor to save Toby. But she reacts by shoving me to the floor instead with an enraged look on her face. "Wallace Cochran, if you truly loved me, you wouldn't stop me at this time!" After that, she quickly takes Toby to the lounge in the wedding venue. By the time I arrive at the lounge, I witness Elvira straddling Toby. The very same woman, who had once promised me that she'd preserve her virginity for our wedding night, can be seen glaring at me angrily. "Toby's condition is very severe, you know! How am I supposed to sit by and watch him suffer? It's just virginity, isn't it? Since you want it that badly, I can just get myself repaired and let you try again, can't I?"

Evangeline has it all, the looks, the money, the men. She was unstoppable and took anything and everything she wanted with a smile on her face. The men adore her and the women yearned her friendship in secret even the most jealous of hearts. But will everything change at the appearance of a poor, part-timer, nerdy man?

Due to the change in my work location, I'd already informed Paul Miller, my part-time helper, to look for a job elsewhere three months ago. Back then, Paul had agreed to do so immediately. But when I'm about to move out of my old home, he made an absurd request to me. "I've spent so many years working for you to the bone. According to this industry's rules, you have to take care of me for the rest of my life. But if you refuse to do that, you can pay me a pension of ten thousand dollars every month." I'm stunned, to say the least. Did I hire a part-time helper, or did I find myself a financial burden instead? I turn Paul down immediately, so he decides to take a step back. "If you don't want to pay me, then give me this house of yours. I can't just leave without anything, right? It'll just show how petty of an employer you are. If not, I'll humiliate you in the group chat!" Fury floods my senses immediately. Fine. Let's see who will get humiliated here!

My parents have found their birth daughter. They're reunited thanks to her face, which is almost identical to my mother's. After weeping in my mother's arms, she slowly raises her head and looks at me. Her gaze is filled with hostility. "You've enjoyed what's supposed to be mine for so many years. Don't you think it's time to give it back?" She doesn't bother concealing her hatred for me. My parents are still bawling their eyes out over being reunited with her. In the next second, their sobbing abruptly stops. She doesn't notice it, though.

At the company team-building event, I got called out by my colleague Samantha Rowler for not removing my price tag—she accused me of being a "freebie chaser." "Oh wow, Carla, you drive a BMW 5 Series. Are you seriously planning to return your clothes within seven days too?" she sneered. I tucked the tag back in and ignored her snide remark. But after the event, as soon as I got home, my phone started blowing up. My chat apps were going insane. A friend had sent me a link: [Luxury-Car Executive Turns Out to Be a Return Addict!] Someone had filmed me leaving the price tag on and posted it to a short-video platform. I opened the comment section and was met with a barrage of insults. [Can't afford to live, huh? Tag warrior.] [Is this car a sugar-daddy gift? Those who know, know.] [OMG, does this woman have some kind of illness? Which brand is this so I can avoid it!] I immediately knew Samantha was behind it. I messaged her to delete the video. Instead, the next second, she blocked me—and pinned a comment to the top of the thread: [You can know a person's face but never their heart!] I was about to post a statement to clarify, my finger hovering over the send button, when I noticed the video's likes had already shot past ten thousand. I laughed. If they wanted a scene, fine—let's make it bigger. I quickly posted a new update: [The outfit is really nice. I'll wear it again next time.] The netizens erupted. The insults doubled, the heat skyrocketed, and the post shot straight to number one trending. I just put my phone down and went to sleep.

My cousin, Myra Walsh, leaves a voice message in the family group chat in a mean and uncouth manner. "Mom, I'm not meeting that guy who drives a rundown car. One look at him tells me that he's a single pathetic loser." She then kicks my chair. "Hey Sam, that useless piece of shit is a good match for you. Why don't you take my place on the blind date?" I follow Myra's line of sight. There's an old-looking car parked outside, and the owner, Henry Quinton, is currently reclining against the car while smoking. My entire family thinks he's just an ex-convict who has just gotten released from prison and is unable to land a job yet. I'm the only one who knows that's not the truth. Last week, when I was carrying out my internship at a bank, I witnessed the bank manager inviting Henry into the vault. Apparently, the trail of numbers Henry has in his savings is as long as a phone number. After putting on some makeup on my face to make me pure and innocent, I put on an oversized shirt before heading out of the apartment. In the cold wind, I cower slightly from the cold as I hand a thermos flask over to Henry. "Sir, Maya said she's not a match for you, so I'm here in her place." Henry snuffs out his cigarette, his gaze fixing on my flapping hem for three seconds. "Lass, if you want to be with me, you'll have to suffer tremendously in life." "I'm willing to go through anything as long as I get to be with you." That night, Maya flaunts photos of the bag a rich scion has given her. As for me, I've gone over to Henry's apartment.

The newly hired genius programmer was a proud woman who always thought she could turn the entire industry on its head. When an investor tried to pressure her into drinking, she flipped the table and slapped him across the face. "My worth is in my programming skills, not my ability to network. Asking me to drink with you is an insult." Enraged, Clint Warner immediately withdrew the eighty-million investment agreement. He even swore he would never work with us again. As the Head of Product, I scrambled to apologize. The situation was only salvaged after I drank so much that I ended up hospitalized. … Later, I complained to the boss and demanded that he discipline the new hire. To my shock, he dismissed the matter. "If the employee causes any problem, it's because the supervisor failed in their duty. The promised million-dollar dividend bonus is cancelled. Take this as your warning." Fed up, I wrote down Mary Hansen's name on the Counseling-Out List. She couldn't care less. "I have abilities you’ll never match, unlike a scheming bootlicker like you. If anyone tries to go after me, the project will be halted. Don't come crying to me when everything collapses." I did not argue with her then. However, when the Counseling-Out List was announced, I found my own name on it. The boss claimed it was a mistake to force me to leave. Then he promoted Mary to my position and even granted her the authority of a vice president. "You were only great because of the company's support. Mary's not the same. She's young and truly talented. She’ll lead us to greater heights." With a cold smirk on my face, I made my way to our competitor, taking the crucial piece of our company's technology with me.

Lewis Gordon says he likes older women. Seeing that he's young, energetic, and good in bed, I agree to be his girlfriend. But when he runs into me with his friends while I'm dressed in business attire, he is stunned and doesn't know how to react. Then, he quickly introduces me. "She's just a neighbor like an auntie." What? Middle-aged? I immediately break up with him. He sends a clumsy explanation, "When you dress like a middle-aged woman, it's really embarrassing for me." I block him and don't bother replying. Five years later, I bring my son along to celebrate my husband's godfather's birthday. Lewis shows up, holding hands with his girlfriend. When he hears my son call Johann Tucker "Grandpa Johann," he pulls a long face. He blurts, "This is my son, right? He should be calling him great-grandfather." I shoot him a look of pure disgust. "He's not your son." Lewis points at my son's face and sneers, "Look at his eyes and his face. He looks exactly like me. How can you still insist he's not my son?" All I can think of is my extremely jealous husband. If he hears Lewis claiming that he's my son's father, will he go crazy and kill him?

“My husband got his mistress pregnant… so I handed him the divorce papers.” Three years of silence. Three years of contempt. Three years living in the shadow of a man who loved someone else. Rachelle Veronesi, heiress to a fashion empire, fulfilled her end of the bargain: she was the perfect wife to Nikolai Santoro. She endured his humiliations, his cold absences, and the constant presence of Micah—the childhood friend he always chose over her. But the illusion shatters during a family dinner when Micah announces her pregnancy. Rachelle doesn’t cry. She doesn’t beg. She walks away. With nothing but her name and her power, she reclaims her place at the top of the fashion world—stronger, colder, untouchable. Nikolai believes she’ll come crawling back. He thinks she’s nothing without him. He couldn’t be more wrong. Because as Rachelle rises, he begins to uncover the truth: the woman he trusted has been lying to him… and the child she carries isn’t even his. Now, with only three months left before the divorce is final, Nikolai is forced to face the one truth he never wanted to admit— He didn’t lose a convenient wife. He lost the only woman who ever truly loved him. And this time… she’s not coming back.

I've traveled to Southgate to attend a water-splashing festival. A cheeky kid, who's about eight years old, keeps spraying the back of my head and my ears with water ejected from her high-pressure water gun. Half of my body is soon drenched in water. That's when I berate the kid and tell her not to aim her gun at my face. She doesn't bother stopping. On the contrary, she even has the gall to spray more water right in my face. I feel the cold water spritzing into my left eye. The pain is so intense that I can't even open my eyes. To make things worse, that kid is even howling with laughter while raising her gun proudly. "Look, Dad! He's all soggy and wet, like a limp noodle! This is fun!" The kid's father merely watches from the side. Not only does he not offer an apology to me, but he also records the whole thing on his phone. "Hey, my daughter is washing your eyes for you for free! This is an honor that no one else can ever receive, you know! Why are you acting like a complete wuss?" I swipe the liquid off my face before drawing to my feet and yelling at the crowd around me. "There's strong acid contained inside that kid's water gun! Just now, she burned my eye with it!"