Family Secrets Novel 소설 & 이야기

Heating starts on the 15th, so I give my mom the money to pay the heating bill two days in advance and ask her to pay it for me. But a week passes, and it still feels like an icehouse in my apartment. I am on the phone complaining to my younger brother's wife, Selena Lyons, who lives upstairs. "You are right not to pay the heating fee. I paid, and it made no difference. We're freezing to death here." From the other end of the call, I faintly hear my nephew shouting, "Mom, it's so hot! I want a popsicle!"

Five years ago, my family died in a car crash. My parents. My adopted sister, Liz. Everyone but me. They left behind grief, an empty house, and a debt so large it swallowed my life. When the collectors came, I turned to the only person I had left—my husband, Adrian. He told me he had cut ties with his own family to marry me and had nothing left. I believed him. For five years, I worked every job I could find, paid every dollar I earned, and told myself love was worth the suffering. When the balance dropped to its final $18,000, I signed up for a paid drug trial at a private clinic. They handed me a waiver, warned me about possible delayed reactions, and promised fast money if I swallowed the experimental dose. I thought it would buy us a new beginning. Instead, I came home early and heard Adrian on the phone. “Let Liz use the card. Evelyn still doesn’t know. She took away Liz’s money five years ago, so she has to earn every dollar back herself.” Then he laughed softly. “One more year, and her punishment is over.” That was how I learned the dead were alive. The debt was fake. My husband had never been poor. And the life I had fought so hard to survive was only a sentence they had given me.

By the fifth year since the return of the real heir, Danny, to the family, I had gotten used to the plain oatmeal on the table. The second I asked for a bigger portion or more protein, Danny would express his envy toward me, his eyes downcast. “Rhys sure enjoys such a hearty meal, unlike me. Growing up in an orphanage, I was hungry all the time. I wince at the sight of meat. I don’t deserve to eat.” My parents shed tears of heartache while accusing me of rubbing it in Danny’s face. Later, whenever I dressed up to go out, Danny would let out a wry smile. “Rhys is so put together. That’s so not me. I grew up in the countryside, feeding livestock. Even all the designer clothes in the world can’t hide the fact that I was a farm hand.” My fiancée, Kyra, would always be there to hold my hand. She said, “It’s not your fault, Rhys. Don’t put this on yourself.” On the day of our engagement, Danny stared at the ring on my finger, his face brooding. “You have occupied my place for twenty years. Your fiancée and the life of luxury were never meant to be yours. Don’t you ever wake up in the middle of the night, feeling the weight on your conscience?” All eyes were on me, their silent judgment cutting into me. With years of pent-up emotions breaking free, I pulled a punch. My parents smashed the cake onto my head. Kyra, on the other hand, took out a handkerchief to wipe away Danny’s tears. That very night, I left a formal writing to cut all legal and personal ties with them.

I suffer from a hereditary form of amnesia. By the time I found out, I had only seven days left. On the first day, I found my boyfriend had fallen for my younger twin sister. With a bitter smile, I suggested we break up. On the second day, my most treasured Lego set was smashed by my sister. Everyone laughed at me, saying I was disgraceful, unworthy of being a daughter of the Fleming family. On the fourth day, I forgot that my sister was allergic to mangoes. She ended up in the hospital, and my parents glared at me with resentment. Even my ex-boyfriend accused me of being heartless. On the seventh day, I woke up in a hospital bed to see my father walking in with a stern expression. He demanded that I quit my job and devote myself entirely to taking care of the family, as nothing more than a housekeeper. But I only looked at them in confusion and asked softly, “Who are you?” When they realized I had truly lost my memory, they lost their minds.

I had always been obedient and compliant. I never dared to disobey others' instructions. The day my wealthy biological parents brought me home, my adoptive brother leaned close to my ear and sneered arrogantly, "The position of the Spencer family's heir belongs to me. If you know what's good for you, get lost on your own." I nodded obediently. Then I turned around and threw myself straight into rush-hour traffic on the highway. My parents nearly lost their minds. Panicked and trembling, they dragged me back into the car, their faces drained white with terror. My sister's expression darkened as she warned me coldly in my ear, "If you pull another stunt for attention, believe me, I'll throw you right back into the doghouse you came from." I obediently listened. That very night, I locked myself inside a dog crate. My sister froze in complete shock. Gritting her teeth, she yanked me out, staring at me like she'd seen a ghost. Later, when my adoptive brother pretended to be sick, my sister forced me to donate blood for him. I obediently took the knife. Without the slightest hesitation, I slashed straight through the artery in my wrist. By the time my parents rushed over, blood had just begun spraying out. They screamed in horror and lunged forward to press against my wound. "Somebody call 911! Now!!!" My sister had gone just as pale. After a long moment of stunned silence, she finally stammered, "Mom, Dad… I only told him to donate a little blood to Eric. I never told him to slit his wrist…" I blinked. My sister wasn't lying. She really hadn't taught me that. It was something the traffickers taught me during the five years my family personally handed me over to them—to "learn obedience."

My father raised me on one principle: fair exchange. If I wanted anything, I had to earn it myself. Fifty cents for washing the dishes. A dollar for mopping the floor. Five dollars for a perfect score on a test. To buy the pair of white sneakers I had been dreaming of, I spent three months collecting recyclables. In that house, I lived like a pieceworker, paid by the task. It was not until my senior year of high school that everything began to crack. I collapsed during morning study, my body worn down by years of malnutrition. The doctor said I needed better nutrition. My father stood by my hospital bed and started doing the math. "Three hundred for the hospital stay. Two hundred for medication. Chester, this all goes on your tab for the future." I turned my head and saw a boy in a school uniform in the next bed. His father was feeding him spoonfuls of chicken soup, his eyes red with worry. In that moment, the world I had known for 18 years fell apart. It turned out not every child had to earn their parents' love. After I was discharged, I went home and saw the pair of designer sneakers on my brother's feet; it was worth thousands. That was when I finally woke up. I tore up the family photo and, without hesitation, applied to the college farthest from home. Ten years later, my father called me in tears. My brother had taken all his retirement savings, sold the house, and run off with his girlfriend. He was left with nothing. No home. No one. I smiled and tossed him a rag. "Want a place to stay? Sure. It's 50 cents per window. Earn your own rent."

My name is Elena, the principessa with the best marksmanship in the Capello family. In my previous life, I married my fiancé, Leon Newman. However, behind my back, he was involved with his adopted sister, Violetta, for three whole years. They even had a child together. To give her the antique pistol that represented the highest honor in marksmanship, he smashed my right wrist with a steel slide rail. From that day on, I could never hold a gun steadily again. I also lost the qualification to take over the family’s private shooting club and weapons collection business. After being reborn, I didn’t choose Leon again. Instead, I married his uncle, Damien Newman, the current don of the Newman family. I thought I had finally escaped the fate of my previous life. But on the eve of the family’s annual shooting competition, my right wrist was destroyed again. This time, it was Violetta herself who did it. After Damien learned about it, he was furious and personally sent Violetta to prison. I was deeply moved. I thought I had finally chosen the right man in this life. It wasn’t until five years later that I overheard the conversation between father and son in the study. “Dad, back then, you helped Aunt Violetta burn the surveillance footage, gave her a new identity, and married Mom, a useless cripple who can’t even hold a gun steady anymore, all so she could safely leave Sicilia. “Now that Aunt Violetta is back, when are you going to divorce Mom? I want Aunt Violetta to be my mom.” Damien stayed silent for a long time. He rubbed his wedding ring with his thumb before speaking in a low voice. “I won’t. For Violetta’s sake, I already wronged your mother once. In this life, I’ll make it up to her. “She will always be Mrs. Newman. And you are never allowed to say things like that in front of her again.” “But the one you love is clearly Aunt Violetta.” “That’s enough.” My hand froze in midair before it could knock on the door. Chills ran down my spine. In my previous life, Leon destroyed the hand I used to shoot. So, in this life, I thought the man who saved me would be the exception. However, it turned out that even this marriage was just a carefully constructed lie he created for another woman. My husband didn’t love me. And my son, Luca, liked Violetta more, too. If that’s the case, I don’t want you anymore, Damien, nor do I want you, my son.

When I return home on Christmas Eve, I find a stamp on my wife's body. She looks flustered as she explains that it's a mark every member of her family has. I sneer to myself. She has no idea that I'm a member of the Anti-Cheating Organization. With the help of a system, I can easily track my wife's whereabouts and see what she's done. She's my last target before completing my mission. Once I'm done with her, I'll get ten million dollars.

Half a year after our divorce, my ex-husband became a trending topic online. His current wife, who had just given birth, jumped off a building. When she jumped, she was clutching a printed, 98-page copy of the "Cloves Family Code of Conduct." The reason for her suicide? She couldn’t buy discounted groceries online. A reporter came to interview me and asked, "Excuse me, were you also given the same family rules?"

Kayla Matthew is a bar waitress and a sex worker with secrets too heavy for her young shoulders. Struggling to care for her terminally ill mother and brilliant teenage sister even if it means dancing on the edge of her morals every night. But life has other plans for her. When she met Damien Cole, a billionaire, a heart surgeon, and a single Dad. A man haunted by a past he can’t outrun. When his cold-hearted ex-wife refuses to attend their daughter’s school event, he desperately hires Kayla to pretend to be the perfect mother. When he realizes she’s the only one who can calm his daughter’s panic attacks. His family was against bringing her into the mansion. But what they don't know is that it was never her plan to be a sex worker. What begins as a transaction spirals into something much deeper. But secrets and past wounds threaten to destroy the fragile bond they’re building. Because love was never part of the deal and promises? But what will happen if his ex-wife does anything to get her killed? Will she escape from the danger they are plotting against her.?