Novel & Cerita Face Smacking

When I died with a smile on my face, right before my brother's eyes, he looked as if the anguish might tear him apart. Yet, for twenty-one years, he hadn't stopped wishing I would meet this exact end. It all traced back to my fifth birthday—the day I had innocently hoped our parents would come home from their business trip to celebrate with me. They rushed back that night but never made it. A car accident took both their lives. From that moment on, my brother resented me, despised me. He didn't just stand idly by as our cousin snatched up my work as her own; he encouraged it. And when my landlord threw me out, it wasn't a random cruelty—it was my brother pulling the strings. All he had ever wanted, from the very beginning, was to see me die a miserable death. But when he finally got his wish… why did he cry, pleading for me to come back, begging me to call him 'brother' one last time?

After my sister, Mona Ramsey, and I graduated from college, our family went bankrupt. Our father gave us two options: One was to marry into the Whites through an alliance. The other was to take over the company and clean up the mess. In my previous life, Mona wanted the rich socialite lifestyle and chose to marry into the Whites. She ended up being brutally tortured by her husband, leaving her disfigured and disabled. I, on the other hand, relied on my talent for business to bring the company back from the brink. For a while, I was riding high and had everything going for me. Mona grew insanely jealous of me. At the company's IPO launch event, she stormed into the venue carrying gasoline and set me on fire. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment when our father gave us the choice. This time, Mona rushed to stand in front of me. "Dad, let Laura marry into the Whites," she said. "She's been spoiled since she was little. She can't handle a hard life. I'll stay with you and face everything that's coming." I couldn't help laughing. Oh, my silly little sister! Staying would be far more miserable than marrying into the Whites.

A widow—the main suspect behind her husband's death. To save her company from the consequences of the mistakes she made in the name of love, she has to marry him—a stranger. Finding out that her stranger is her worst enemy in disguise, who knows the secret behind the death of her husband, Gemma must make her choices wisely before they blow up in her face. .... Livian's love for Gemma was something only he knew about and every time he tried to confess to her, he would lose to her childhood sweetheart. Who would have thought that after years of separation, he would come back to a widowed Gemma? So, he weaves a trap and backs her into a dead end. .... "The game has changed, Gem." He traced her face, a charming grin plastered on his face as he eyed her like she was the prey he had finally caught. "Now, I set the rules and you abide by them."

The night my boyfriend and I celebrate our first anniversary, we get into an accident. My soul travels through time and ends up ten years in the future. Here, I see that my boyfriend and I have married and started a family. It's the future I've dreamed of. However, it seems that I'm out of a job, and I've given up on my dream. I struggle to make it through endless days of my boyfriend's ice-cold treatment. Ultimately, I see myself sitting on the edge of a building's roof after falling deep into postpartum depression. When I open my eyes again, I see my boyfriend's panicked face…

Lydia Leighton—my mother-in-law—and I had been grinding nonstop on an overseas project. We got back home two weeks early. Before we could share the news, her phone rang. The renovation company. "Mrs. Howe, the house is done per your request. But your card balance isn't enough. When do you want to settle the rest?" I frowned. We'd been buried in work overseas. When did she even renovate a house? A long invoice popped up on her phone. Lydia's face went cold. She dialed her husband. "George, which 'Mrs. Howe' is renovating a house? You're cheating on me?!" He sounded panicked. "How could I? Babe, I swear I only love you. Wait for me—I'm coming back to explain!"

Clouderton, Carmoria. Three days after we got our marriage certificate, Jason casually dropped that he'd handed the keys to our new place... to his ex, Nina Zeller. I clenched my jaw. "So you just HAD to give our house key to your poor, delicate ex?" He sighed. "She needed surgery. It was urgent. I'll get it back after." I stared at him. That blank, serious face? I actually laughed. I own a ton of properties. Even my managers have to book time to get in. But Jason? First guy with the nerve to sneak his ex into my home.

In Reychelle City, a contest was held to crown the most beautiful woman. After my cousin scarred my face, she seized first place with ease. What she never expected was that this year's contest wasn't for fame; it was to select the future wife of the Third Prince, a ruthless, bloodthirsty eunuch. That very afternoon, gifts poured in by the cartload. My betrothed panicked. That night, he tore up our engagement contract and carried my cousin into the bridal chamber. The next day, she trailed her lacquered fingertips across my cheek and sneered, "Alicia, with your ruined face, who would ever want you? Perhaps the beggar at the street corner might take you in." I caught her wrist, let out a cold laugh, and said, "Who told you I would marry a beggar?" Before her stunned eyes, I pushed open my parents' chamber doors. "Mom, since Maggie doesn't wish to be the prince's consort… let me take her place." Three years later, before the eyes of a shocked court, the Third Prince entered the grand hall with me at his side, with two children in tow. No one had foreseen it. This body of mine, blessed with the rarest gift of fertility, was the perfect match for a man believed incapable of siring heirs.

I was vacationing in St. Moritz, Switzerland with my mother when Vivian from the Valenti family office sent me a photo. The woman in it lay on the cold marble floor of the estate, her coat stripped away, her body covered in blood. No one stood near her, as if she had already been set aside like a problem to be dealt with. It was hard to tell if she was still breathing. A voice message followed, her tone sharp and controlled. “Elena, don’t assume that marrying the Don and being called Donna means your small-town family can step onto Valenti property.” “The lakeside estate Mr. Valenti just acquired is a family asset. Letting someone like your mother stay there breaks rules.” “I act on the Don’s behalf. It is my responsibility to remove people who should not be there.” “This is what happens when someone crosses a line.” I went still. Then I looked up at my mother sitting across from me. She held her tea, calm as ever. I lowered my eyes and enlarged the photo. The moment I saw the woman’s face, my chest tightened. It was not my mother. It was Luca’s. I called Vivian immediately. “Have you lost your mind? That’s Luca’s mother.” She gave a light laugh, her tone cool and distant. “Mr. Valenti has always been clear. Your mother is yours. His mother is his.” “The Valenti family does not take in outsiders.” “You may be Donna, but that does not mean your family steps inside with you.”

Before our wedding, my fiancé, Carlo Vitale—the youngest Don on the East Coast—held a church ceremony with my stepsister. He said, "According to Mafia rules, only the woman who completes the wedding ceremony with me and receives the blessing of all the family is my true wife. "So even if your sister Elena is carrying my child, she's nothing more than a mistress." After the priest's blessing, they exchanged rings. I stood outside the church, watching through a curtain of rain as he kissed another woman. My face was white. I had loved Carlo for twelve years, from the ages of sixteen to twenty-eight. However, he had only ever had my stepsister, Sophia, not me, in his heart. I chose to let him go. Later, I left for Europe. All I left Carlo was a notice of our broken engagement and a parting gift. For some reason, the man who had always treated me with indifference seemed to have aged ten years overnight.

In my dormitory, there was a poor student. With all the good intentions in the world, my roommates and I were eager to help her, not realizing how much our help would cost. She wasn't impressed by the hairdryer we offered, insisting on borrowing a branded one instead. The skincare products we gave her? They were applied to her feet. And, as if that wasn't enough, she specifically demanded luxury face cream. One day, I lent her my tablet to look up some information, and to my surprise, she secretly opened up my gaming app, spent all the diamonds and reward tickets I had saved for half a year, and left me empty-handed. When I asked her to pay me back, she turned the tables and posted a public message online, accusing me. "I'm just a poor student from the countryside, never played games before. Are the materials in the game really worth this much?" Before I knew it, the comment section was flooded with criticisms of me. In a fit of frustration, I fired back with a post of my own, throwing her into the spotlight. "Well, I suppose you've never tasted the bitterness of being cyberbullied, have you?"